Moments
by Kashii Ai
Summary: A oneshot/miniarc series of SoulxMaka and KidxMaka-centric concepts. Snapshots of each couple's relationship, from one little moment to the next, and everything in between; sometimes the best moments are the little ones. SoulxMaka/KidxMaka.
1. Enrapture: MaKI

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

Enjoy, guys~!!!

**Self-doubt**

Death the Kid always tells himself (berates himself, destroys himself) for screwing up. That's how it is, that's how it was supposed to be. But then she came along (a petite angel with green eyes and corn-silk hair) and took his hand (hers was small, gentle, and callused), and told him to stop doubting himself. His heart was enraptured.

**Freeze**

Kid froze in his shooting, and watched as she launched herself (recklessly and blatantly) at the pre-Kishin, black and red scythe flashing brightly, her partner yelling at her to listen. His breath left his lungs (no, no, she had to be okay) as she dodged a near-decapitation. Time sped up again, and he fell in behind her, ready to back her up. She was gonna hear it after the mission.

**Protection**

He dodged another pre-Kishin claw, and jammed his guns into its arm. BOOM! The creature jerked back in pain (it looked utterly dumbfounded), and Maka jumped past Kid, hacking at the creature. The pre-Kishin launched its good arm at the petite Technician (this girl is a pestilence, the creature probably thought), its claws in a position to impale her. Kid gasped and leaped in front of her.

**Blood**

Pain seared down his right forearm, and he felt hot, red blood flow freely from his artery. Maka and Soul screamed his name (her voice rang out clearest to him) as he felt his head go light from blood loss. He was vaguely aware of Maka's scream (as he collapsed listlessly to the ground) and the dull thud of weapon hacking into flesh as she finished the pre-Kishin.

**Fight**

She stubbornly looked away from him, green eyes ablaze, and squirmed against the wall. He had her trapped against it with one hand up by her head, resting against the wall, his arm blocking her escape. If she tried to run, he'd stop her. Man, was she difficult.

"I'm gonna ask you again. What the hell were you thinking?" He asked calmly.

"What the hell was _I_ thinking? I almost had the pre-Kishin, then _you_ go and jump in front of me, and get a major vein in your arm torn open!"

"You were about to be killed."

"So where you!"

He sighed, frustrated. How did Soul put up with her? "Better me than you."

Her huge eyes caught his, and he was lost in a maze of hypnotic, enticing green, "Don't say that."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE! I'D NEVER BEEN SO WORRIED IN MY LIFE!"

Kid drew back a little, slightly frightened by her outburst. If looks could kill, he'd be dead right now. But God, could she be attractive when she was angry.

"Why are you worried about _me_? I always thought . . . I always thought you cared about . . . Soul . . . the most." The admittance of this made him unable to continue eye contact.

"Soul? _Soul?_ Why is it always about him? Are you really that _stupid_?_"_ He looked up again, hearing the tears in her voice, and indeed, (he felt really guilty, now) her cheeks were wet, "Yeah, I care about him, but it's—it's not the same as with you, Kid."

He felt his heart skip a beat, not daring to believe what he just heard, "Really? Why? What's different about me?"

Her large forest-colored eyes (he lost himself in them again) filled his vision, and he felt her lips, soft as rose petals (they tasted like vanilla and she smelled like a beach, like sunscreen), close around his, and he closed his eyes.

His stomach turned, knotted itself, jumped around and turned again. He exhaled (and tried not to collapse on his now-jelly legs) as she drew back, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

"That's what's different." She whispered.

Kid stared at Maka, not quite believing his sheer good fortune.

"I'm sorry I worried you." He apologized.

"You damn well should be!"

He swore his heart was about to beat right out of his chest, "I love you, too."

And his lips smashed against hers once again (vanilla had never tasted so good to him), and he was sure they would forget about their fight after this.

**A/N:** I love MaKi, they're very sweet! The next one will be a SoKa, so look for it! Please review, too, if you want. They motivate me to write more!! ~~~ ^_^


	2. Sunshine and Auroras: SoKa

**A/N:** Here is the second installment of _Moments_! Thank you very much to May Never Know, soulxmakaxmonkeyxbearman, and . for leaving me such wonderful and helpful reviews. Love you guys!!! *huggles* SoKa and Maki forever!!! 3

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

Have fun reading!!

**Temptation**

Soul Eater stared blankly at the empty page of his notebook (frustrated and annoyed), tapping his pen. Where should he start, where should he start? The white-haired weapon ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He had been trying for days at this paper. He had all the research. He just didn't know what to write! Damn, and this thing counted for a quarter of their grade.

Stupid Stein and his whole "fulfill your academic potential" philosophy. Normally, Soul wouldn't be working this hard at schoolwork, but this was a jointly graded assignment. Technician and weapon both had to do well; if one failed, the other did. And Maka would _kill _him (with a dictionary) if he failed.

"Hey, Soul." Aforementioned girl (maybe she could help him) entered his room, "How goes the paper?"

"It's not. I haven't gotten anywhere."

"You still have three more days."

"Yeah, but you're already done! I just don't get this whole Demon Weapon Regulation Acts thingy."

She shrugged (probably thought this paper was easy) and walked up behind him, placing her hands on the back of his chair, "They're the laws that regulate human weapons in terms of registration and security. Like, when we have to sit in the guarded section of the airplane when we travel for missions. It's 'cause you're a weapon, therefore you count as potential threat. That's what one of those laws is."

"Weapon law is hard. Damn Stein, what does he mean by 'in the case of travel, defend your case in a cross-examining situation?' And what in the hell is assumption of danger?"

"You know what a cross-examine is?"

"Yeah. It's when you're going through travel security and they have reason to suspect a weapon of terrorism or hijacking. So they perform a cross-examination to make sure you're safe. I had to do one last time we went to Europe."

"And that ties into assumption of danger."

"Which is . . .?"

"The premise that any and all demon weapons are a potential threat, and any suspicious activity or evidence is grounds for a cross-examination."

"Man, it's so damn hypocritical. You mean, they can cross-examine you just because you look shifty?"

"Yeah, basically."

"That's stupid."

"Mmm." She ran her fingers delicately though his silver white hair (he closed his eyes for a second and enjoyed it, they hadn't touched each other all week because of this assignment), her bright green eyes calm, "It's a weird law . . ."

Maka gently stroked the back of her fingernail (where did this come from?) down his jaw line, sending little shocks through his back. He tried not to shiver, "I'm trying to focus, you know."

"Why, is that turning you on?"

He snorted, "No."

"Okay." Her hand moved slowly down his neck, and stopped at his collarbone, making small, circular caresses. Soul gave an involuntary shudder (dammit, he was trying to be cool) of pleasure. Maka laughed softly, "Sure you're okay?"

The demon scythe swallowed hard, "You're distracting me."

One of her wheat-spun pigtails tickled his shoulder as she whispered in his ear, "I thought you said cool guys like you could always resist temptation."

"Yeah."

She laughed softly again, and her soft, full lips (oh, how he'd been denying himself) moved down the tendon in his neck, causing him to shiver in delight, "Can you still focus?'

"Of course." Dammit! His voice cracked! "Evil seductress."

She giggled, and her small, callused hand gently pressed into his cheek, so he had to turn his head to the side. He moaned in pleasure (man, he'd really missed this) as her tender lips closed over his, and he tasted sweet, sweet vanilla.

She turned his chair so it was facing her, and straddled him. His breathing became deeper as her petite, slender body pressed against his hard, muscular one. He ran his hands over her curves, marveling at the perfect balance her figure had between lithe and shapely.

He was so glad she was all his. Tonight, tomorrow, and forever.

**Piano**

He always knew (though he'd never admit it to Maka) that she was guaranteed his whole heart,from the moment he handed her a piece of it by plinking out a few notes on a grand piano.

**Risk**

Every time they go on a mission, Soul has to tell himself (lie to himself) that everything will be okay. This won't be the last time he sees Maka smile, or sees that venomous glare, or watches in awe as she whips him about the enemy.

But then she goes and does something stupid, _again_, (stupid, reckless idiot) and almost gets herself killed, _again_, and his fragile logic comes crashing down around his ears. He gets angry with her (but he's really angry with himself) for making him doubt himself. So he guilt-trips her, and she ends up in tears.

And so he hugs her (while grumbling an apology), and tells her everything's gonna be okay, and tries to believe it himself.

**Choice**

Sometimes, he doesn't understand why, of all people, she chose dark, twisted him. In all her flaws (and he knows she has a lot), he finds that his outnumber hers. It holds him in awe (and slight irritation) that such a good person could connect with someone like him.

And sometimes, when he wishes he could ask her why (he wants to, so very badly), he finds the words die on his lips, and he berates himself for once again being afraid of rejection.

**Suggestion**

Soul stared at his partner incredulously, not quite sure he had heard right. He had taught her how to use her weapon powers (bad move, that one, she threatened him with it), and she had taught him to fight (at least he can block her punches now, but still not Maka-chops) in proper martial arts, in addition to wielding her. But he never thought these two forces would be pitted against each other.

"Y—you wanna have a _what_?" He ran a hand through his hair.

"A duel." She repeated, almost flippantly.

He squinted at her, and felt her forehead, "Maka . . . are you okay?"

She shoved his hand off her forehead, "I'm fine! It'll be good practice for us."

"I'd only agree to a duel with you if I had a death wish."

"Makaaaaaaaa—" Oh, shit! A HUGE dictionary! She brought it down hard on his skull,

"—CHOP!!"

It dug out a chunk (something had cracked, he was sure) of his cranium. He keeled over, blood spouting from his head.

"Idiot." Maka scoffed.

He groaned, then got up, rubbing the sore spot, "I was only kidding."

She grinned, eager, "So you'll fight me, then?"

Soul sighed (he really was suicidal) and hoped to God he came out of this alive.

"I suppose."

**Combat**

They had decided (more like disagreed and Maka had overruled Soul) that the winner would be decided by first blood. The two weapons had also thrown a bet into the mix. Loser had to pay the winner thirty dollars (which Soul knew Maka didn't have) and do the dishes for a week.

Their friends (Black Star, Tsubaki, Death the Kid, and Thompson sisters) had also cut class to witness this most pivotal of duels. Bets and predictions of the outcome were exchanged among them. Stein had been hauled from his office to witness the fight. The two teenagers tossed threats (so typical of them) back and forth, half serious, half joking. The sun laughed overhead. This was gonna be good.

Maka and Soul circled each other, measuring the other up, neither wanting to transform their limbs quite yet. Soul went over all the things his Technician had taught him, mentally running a list of her weaknesses. Impulsive, fragile bone structure, smaller and lighter than him.

He heard her war cry, and instantly brought his transformed arm up in defense. She flew at him, double scythes out, and biological metal clanged. She spun around and came in from above. He blocked with his own blade (truly fearing for his life) just in time. The sharp hiss of steel sliding on steel echoed around them as her scythes slid against his.

He forced away her blades and took the offense, slashing at every opening he could exploit. His Technician backed away (her big green eyes were startled), blocking and parrying his blows. He almost had her, almost! He brought his arm under her left scythe and flipped his elbow deftly, swinging her defense wide open. He whipped the curved blade around and slashed downward to dig a small scratch into her abdomen.

Her leg flew out of nowhere and walloped him in the face, and Soul found himself in the air, the ground rushing at him. He clenched his teeth and braced himself for impact. He landed with a sickening thud; he almost bit off his tongue as his jaw slammed into the cement. He tasted blood. Shit! She had won!

The white-haired boy heard her walk over, "Bloody lips don't count. The blood is drawn by blade, remember?"

Ah, they had agreed to that. He groaned and turned over, feeling is swollen lip. He spat out the ironish blood filling his mouth, and got up. He turned to find Maka sprinting at him mercilessly, giving him no time to recover. He frantically brought his arm up in time to parry her barrage of attacks.

The girl screeched fury (God, she was hot when she wanted to kill you) as she danced about him. His breath came in short gasps as he tried his best to keep up with her black-belt (he was just short of her) level of fighting. Dammit, these were tai-jutsu moves, he didn't know any tai-jutsu!

She spun around, ballerina-like (he had always enjoyed watching her elegant fighting style) so her back was to him and jammed her elbow into his stomach. He coughed, the wind knocked out of him. She whipped around and slashed her blade across his right bicep. The cut stung, and he felt hot blood pour from the shallow wound. SHIIIIIT! Shit, SHIT! Goddammit, FUCK! She beat him!!

Maka's arm-blades disappeared in streams of blue light, twisting themselves to reform her arms. She skipped over to him, examining the wound she had inflicted, "I beat you!" She incited happily.

Soul glared at her, his red eyes seething.

He answered with a grunt.

**Honesty**

The young scythe studied his Technician (she had agreed to patch him up) as she dabbed at his wound, "The blood is almost clotted." He flinched in pain as she shoved an alcohol-soaked cloth into it, "Sorry."

"It's okay." He studied her huge (they were concerned) green eyes.

Maka looked up at him, ivy and blood locking. He noticed (and he got lost, too) that her eyes were made up of a million little auroras, changing subtle color, constantly shifting and changing. He was in a whole different world, hypnotizing, fascinating, powerful. He had always been fixated by women of power . . .

Maka broke eye contact as she got up to grab some bandages, and Soul was snapped back to reality. He watched the sun hit her hair (he wanted to run his hands through it, silk-spun, golden, lovely), highlighting it warm, burnished gold.

"I think you owe me some money." Maka was being stern, now, as she tied his bandage, "Cough it up."

He laughed, "Yeah, right, idiot, I almost had you."

She smirked, stubborn as ever, "HA! Like you could ever beat me!"

"You're being cockier than Black Star."

She laughed at the comparison, "He's way worse than me."

"Mmm-hmm." He nodded, and they both fell into silence. He couldn't help but (she was just so pretty) stare at her again.

She studied him curiously, "Hey, Soul? What're you thinking about?"

He decided to be honest, "You."

"Me? Really?"

"Really."

Yeah. He had fallen hard for a girl who had the entire Northern Aurora in her large green eyes, and always had a huge textbook in her arms. And she still even laughed at the little things. Even when it was hard to.

**A/N:** This one turned out be one of my favorites. Soul and Maka fighting each other is something I've been wanting to see. And I couldn't resist putting a scene in where Maka seduces him, you just know she'd hold all the sexual power in their relationship. *evil grin* She dominates.

The next one will be a MaKi, again! Look for it.

Please review, I love getting feedback. Improvement is the best way to grow~~!!! ^_^


	3. The Mermaid and the Artist: MaKi

**A/N: **I had to change the rating. You'll understand why when you read the last section of the chapter.

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

Enjoy, guys!!!!

**Beauty**

Maka had been distracted all class period (most unusual for her) by Kid. She still couldn't believe she had scored someone so gorgeous. All _hers_ (the flat-chested, unattractive bookworm), her very own _hot _boyfriend.

He was watching Sid-Sensei intently, his delicate facial structure relaxed. She reached over and ran a hand through his black hair (it reminded her of feathers, soft and floaty and fine), marveling at the rich inky color swirling around her fingers.

He looked over at her touch, and his full (very silky) lips split into a small smile. He studied her for a moment with his big, beautiful honey-yellow eyes (which seemed to always, _always_ dazzle her), then returned his gaze to the lecture notes he was taking. His eyelashes (they reminded Maka of butterfly wings) were black and velvety, luxurious, and contrasted sharply with his flawless milky-alabaster skin.

Maka sighed happily. Kid was just so _pretty_.

**Invitation**

The class bell rang (_Kill kong kang kong)_, signaling the end of class. Ah, break! Everyone began to chatter, and move seats to chat with friends, including Soul, who was hailed over by Black Star.

Kid closed his notebook and arranged his handouts (symmetrically) in his folder, "D'you wanna be my partner for the group project?"

Maka shrugged, unsure, "I don't know. I need to ask Soul. Hey, can I borrow your notes to copy?"

"Sure. Why would—" He stopped talking as he noticed (in utter shock) the blank sheet in her notebook, "You didn't take any notes?!"

"I—I was distracted . . ."

"By what?"

Maka felt her face heat, "Um—um—you . . ."

Kid grinned, "Really. I did notice you staring at me a lot." His face became stern, "But that's no reason to not listen!"

"I was listening!"

"What was the lecture about?"

Maka racked her brains, "Uuuum . . . uhhhh . . . something about weapon metal biology?"

He sighed, "That was last period." The shinigami pulled his satchel from under his chair and put his notebook and folder away.

"Hey. I was wondering if you wanted to come over today. We can have time alone if I can kick Soul out."

He shrugged, "Sure. Why not? And I can help you study up on that lecture."

"'Kay. OI, SOUL!!"

Her demon weapon jumped visibly (he always freaked out when she screeched his name like that), and slowly turned to look at his Technician. Maka beckoned him over. The white-haired boy gave an exaggerated sigh (as though this were a _huge_ inconvenience to him), rolled his garnet eyes, and slowly arose from his seat. He traipsed over to them, looking irritable, "What d'you want?"

"I was wondering if you could not be around at home tonight. Kid and I wanted some time alone. And I was wondering if I could work on the group project with him, too."

Soul stopped sulking and smiled, "Fine by me. Black Star and I were gonna go to the arcade, anyway. And we're working with Tsubaki."

"You better not make her do all the work!"

Soul shrugged, "Don't worry, I won't. What time should I be home?"

Kid and Maka glanced at each other, then Kid looked back at his friend, "Around twelve will be fine."

Soul smiled, "Cool." He slapped Kid high five and returned to his seat as the bell rang for the next period.

**Corruption**

Maka eagerly stuffed her papers (messily and chaotically) into her satchel as the bell rung, eager to get home and hang out with Kid. An alabaster hand reached over and pulled her satchel from her hands, "Arrange them symmetrically." Maka smiled as she watched her boyfriend rearrange the handouts in her folder and place it neatly in the bag, "There."

"Thanks." She slung the strap over her shoulder, absentmindedly kissed Kid's head, and got up. She turned as she felt Soul's hand (it made her feel like he was her twin brother), on her shoulder, "Hey. Are you and Black Star going straight to the arcade?"

He pulled her out of Kid's earshot, "Yeah. What're you and Kid gonna do?"

"I don't know. Just whatever, probably."

"Okay. Make sure you're careful, though." The weapon looked at her (he was being really brother-like, now), his face serious, "Don't do anything you'll regret."

"Kid is a good guy. I thought he was your friend!"

Soul smiled, "Exactly. See you later."

"Bye!" He slapped her high five, waved, and exited the room with Black Star and Tsubaki.

"You ready?" Kid asked.

"Yeah."

"What did Soul say?"

"Warning me that you're corrupted. From him, I guess."

"I was corrupted before I met him."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

**Rain**

The day had been unusually cool (gray, overcast, dreary). Though Death City was located on an oasis, its weather was still exceptionally dry and hot. Normally. It was spring, and spring meant wet season in the desert.

Kid stared at the brooding clouds overhead as they exited Shibusen, "It looks like rain."

Maka covered her head, "It better not, humidity makes my hair limp."

"Too bad. It's gonna rain soon. C'mon." He threw his arm around her and hurried her along.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and the clouds churned as the wind picked up. Kid smiled, "I know it's weird, but I like intense, stormy weather like this. I always have, I don't know why. '

"Maybe 'cause you're a death god?"

He shrugged, "Maybe."

Thunder cracked again overhead, followed by a searing branch of lightning. A rushing sound (a heavy, cleansing torrent of water) ahead of them could be heard, "Oh, shit." Maka could hear it getting closer. She ducked under Kid's arm as the rain broke over them. She pulled on his waist (man, he was stronger than her) to make him move, but he stayed put.

"Let's wait a little while."

"Kid! We'll be soaked!" She tried again to hide under his arm from the relentless barrage, but he grabbed her and held her to his chest, and she squirmed against him.

"Calm down!" His breath tickled her forehead, "You don't think it's romantic?" He smiled at her, and his huge golden eyes (she had to remind herself to breathe) made her stop for a second. Come to think of it, she had always wanted a kiss in the rain.

She ran a finger over his slippery wet cheekbone, his slick skin smooth against hers. His fingers entangled in her hair (if he weren't so close, he'd notice he messed up the symmetry of her pigtails) and he pressed his lips on her forehead, "I love you." He breathed.

"I love you, too."

Their lips met. He sighed in pleasure as Maka slipped her tongue between his slippery lips. The kiss was slick and sexy, and it tasted pure like water, as they were both soaked to the skin. Maka could smell (somehow, his was a scent like rain, earthy and sharp) his hair, his skin; rain always heightened all the senses, especially color, smell, taste, all the things involved in a kiss.

They drew back for breath, and Kid stared at her for a moment, then nuzzled her neck. He muttered something incoherent (his voice was muffled, as his lips were shoved down), then licked the water off her skin. Maka shuddered in pleasure as his tongue ran along her tendon. He drew back, a small, sexy smile on his face, "You taste good."

A clap of thunder made them jump. Maka looked up and let the rain fall fully on her face, "We should get home."

"Yeah. I hope Soul's clothes fit me."

"They should. Although, he is a little shorter than you."

He released her and took her hand, his hard, warm silver skull ring pressing into her skin. Maka stared at their intertwined fingers, alabaster against peach.

She sighed and breathed in the smell of her boyfriend (who smelled like the rain and the earth, and fresh, pure water) and squeezed his hand.

Rain had a way of purifying the pain, the dirt (Maka loved the fresh world after a rainfall), of the earth, washing it all away. Yet it also made the world so brilliantly vivid (like a hot kiss in the cool rain), intimately shoving sight, sound, taste at you.

Maka smiled.

The rain fell.

**Change**

Maka kicked at the door (it had been sticking lately), and it _finally_ opened. She allowed Kid in first, then followed him and shut the door. Maka dumped her bag by the door and went to the closet to grab some towels. She grabbed a pair of fluffy white ones and turned to find Kid arranging their satchels symmetrically by the door. She laughed, "I was gonna put mine in my room."

"Oh." He looked disappointed as she picked hers up. She laughed at his (endearingly crestfallen) expression. His OCD was just so _cute_ sometimes!

"What?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, causing an adorable little crease to appear between them.

"You're cute."

"Um . . . thanks." He took the towel she handed him, and dropped her bag in her room.

"Hey, Maka, I want a change of clothes! I'm cold! And I'm drying unevenly, it's really annoying!" She heard him complain. Maka sighed (symmetry, symmetry, symmetry) and shook her head, and went into Soul's room, "Come in here, then!"

Kid entered the room and looked around, "It's clean in here!"

Maka pulled out a t-shirt and jeans Soul hardly wore (they would likely fit Kid, who was taller) because they were too big for him, "What, you expected it not to be?"

"Well, it's Soul's room."

"I make him keep it clean." She tossed him the clothes and went to the door, "I'm gonna go change, too." She shut the door behind her.

She ended up changing into a tank top and mini skirt. Despite the rain outside, the humidity was dreadful (sticky and sultry, everything seemed to drip in moisture), unusual for Nevada, and Soul had forgotten (they kept the apartment warm to ward off the cold desert nights) to turn down the thermostat that morning.

She exited the room to find Kid sitting on the couch already. He looked hot in casual clothes. He almost always dressed up in that black suit, so it was rare to see him like this.

She smiled. She liked casual Kid.

**Muffins**

"So . . . what do you wanna do?" Maka asked as she sat down beside him.

He shrugged, "I'm not sure. It's your house."

"Hmmm . . . I feel like making something. And I'm hungry for muffins. Wanna bake some muffins?"

Kid smiled. "Sure. Muffins sound good."

"Yeah. We can make them from scratch." Maka leaped up from the couch, "I know! My mom has this really good recipe for chocolate chip ones." The girl rushed into the kitchen, followed (very amused at her randomness) by the young shinigami.

"I don't bake very much. Hell, I don't think I've baked anything since I was a young child, and I helped the maids in the kitchen."

Maka looked up from the recipe diary she has thumbing through, "Really? You poor, deprived boy. Soul and I make stuff together all the time."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm. Here." She stopped at a page, and Kid moved closer to read it over her shoulder, "We should have all the ingredients. I need to go shopping for more flour, soon, though."

"Is this your mother's diary?"

"Yeah. She left it for me when I started living on my own. The illustrations are hers, too."

"It's a really nice one. I'll start getting stuff out."

"Okay." She set the diary on the counter, still opened to the recipe page and opened the fridge, and pulled out the carton of eggs, the milk, and the butter. She set them on the counter where Kid was arranging ingredients symmetrically, "Where's the flour? I can't find it."

"Highest cabinet on the left. I have to keep it out of Blair's reach, she has this weird fascination with flour and makes a mess."

"I see."

The phone rang. Maka ran into the living room, and picked it up, "Hello?"

"Oi, what's up?" Her partner's voice issued from the speaker.

"What do you want?" She asked (how dare he interrupt their date?) irritably.

"Well, gee, _excuse me_ for thinking of you! We're going to Death City pizza later, and I was wondering if you wanted me to bring you back that pasta you like."

Maka smiled (her partner was always thinking of her), "Sure!"

"Cool." She could hear the smile in his voice, "What kind is it again?"

"It's the garlic one with—"

A crash (a scraping sound, followed by a loud thump and something flumping to the ground) resounded from the kitchen, "Holy SHIT!!!" Kid screeched.

Maka rushed into the kitchen to find Kid splayed out on the floor, a chair on its side beside the counter, and the bag of flour next to him, with half its contents spilled over the floor, "Oh my God! What did you _do?_"

"What happened?" Soul asked in her ear.

Kid groaned and picked himself up off the floor, "I was climbing off the chair with the flour . . .and . . . I fell . . ."

"He fell." Maka (he fell, what an understatement) answered Soul, "Are you okay?"

He rubbed his back and arched it, "Yeah. My back just really hurts, now."

Maka laughed, "How in the hell did you _fall_?"

"I don't know. One minute I was fine, next thing I knew, I had slipped. And I fell."

"Slipped on what?

"Uuuum . . . air?"

Maka doubled over (this was just too funny!!) and shook with laughter. She heard Soul say bye and hang up.

Kid looked nonplussed, "What's so funny?"

Maka laughed harder. Her abs (which were normally strong, defined, so this shouldn't hurt) were beginning to ache. She inhaled and took a few deep breaths, "Ahhhhh . . . " She sighed, "That was hilarious . . ."

"Laughing at the expense of others isn't very nice." Kid teased; he was grinning now.

"I don't care when it's at _your_ expense."

Kid laughed, then looked at the flour (white and fluffy, like snow) strewn all over the kitchen floor, "Damn, this'll be fun to clean up. And it didn't fall symmetrically!" He fell to his knees (Maka rolled her eyes; oh, great!) and pounded his fist on the floor, "I'm sorry about this! I'll clean it all up myself, I don't deserve to have any help! I'm trash! Scum! I don't deserve to live!"

Maka glared (oh no, he wasn't gonna go melodramatic on her) and pulled out a book, "Makaaaaaaaa—CHOP!" She brought it down on his skull with a resounding crack.

He stopped talking midsentence, and stared at her in utter shock, clutching his head, "You—you never Maka-chopped me before . . ."

"Well, it's damn time I started, with you talking about yourself like that! What've I told you?!"

"Th—that I'm better than scum . . ."

"Exactly. C'mon, let's clean this up and make those muffins."

They got the flour cleaned up, and successfully put together and stirred the ingredients without further disaster. The young couple got the batch into the oven, and the aroma (so warm and rich, it smelled like sweet chocolate and made your mouth water) of chocolate chip muffins filled the entire apartment.

There was great joy in muffins.

**Sketchbook**

It began when the two teens agreed that they should begin working on their project They were sitting on the floor of the living room. Kid was pulling his things out from his satchel. Maka was looking over the project syllabus. It was a joint presentation on the mechanics of various powers (weapon, Technician, witch, god), and they had gotten Technician. Perfect since that was their profession.

Maka noticed the sketchbook as Kid set it on the coffee table, "Is that yours?"

He paused and stared at it, still in his hand, ready to be set on the table, "Yes."

"I never knew you could draw."

The young shinigami shrugged, "It's just a hobby."

"Can—can I—?"

Kid smiled and handed her the sketchbook. Maka opened it and gasped. A beautiful charcoal rendering (meticulously detailed, the light fell across her body, throwing the musculature in sharp relief) of a woman reclining on a chair. Maka drank in the beautiful drawing, "It's really good."

"It's from life."

"Really?" She blushed as she looked at the nude woman, "Is—isn't that sort of . . . awkward?"

Kid shrugged, "At first, yeah, but you get used to it. You think more about technical things like muscle and bone structure, and lighting. It's not sexual or anything."

Maka nodded and turned the page. This time it was a rough sketch (graphite, this time) of a smiling child, loose and free, most unlike what she would expect from Kid, "This is really different."

"I'm gonna come back and fill in the detail later. But sometimes when I go out to draw, say, in the park, like I was here, I only have a second to capture something. So I just lay in a few rough lines."

"I see."

She turned the page, and gasped again. It was a full-color drawing of Kid looking over an illustration desk (it was tilted towards him, so she couldn't see the drawing within the drawing), colored pencil in hand; he had obviously done it looking in the mirror. The colors were rich and saturated (his eyes looked like liquid, molten gold, and his inky hair stood dramatically out from his pale skin and his chunky white sanzu lines) and the detailing was exquisitely accurate, down to the last fold in his clothing. He was dressed casually in the drawing (a yellow button up plaid shirt, open over a black t-shirt, and jeans) like he was right now.

"That's the best self-portrait I've done so far."

"It looks just _like_ you."

He nodded, "Yeah."

He drew his knees up to his chest, milky bare feet sliding on the dark carpet. Maka turned the page and smiled. It was a drawing of Black Star and Soul (charcoal, this time), arm-in-arm, smiling.

"They discovered me drawing after school, and wanted me to do them."

"It's a good rendering of them."

Maka was amazed at her boyfriend's dead accuracy, his skilled prowess at his craft. Maka continued to page through Kid's sketches, drinking in their beauty, their passion, their essence.

Most were drawings of nude models and random people from his trips to the park, walking in the city, or down-time on his missions. There were a few (they made her smile) of their friends, another of Soul and Black Star, many of the Thompsons, a few of Tsubaki (alone, with Black Star, or with the Thompsons), a few of Soul or Black Star alone. But there none of Maka. Not one.

Maka gasped when she turned the page and saw the next drawing. It was a beautiful two-page spread in full color. A mermaid reclined against a bed of coral, fish swirling around her. She was silvery and beautiful, her skin was iridescent and pearly peach (it made Maka think of a seashell, for some reason), and her hair floated around her like spun gold fiber, chunks of sunlight burnishing it bright.

Her huge, seaweed-green eyes seemed to hold all the mystery and beauty of the sea, unbridled, unleashed, wild. Her silvery tail was meticulously detailed with scales, the fins (they were transparent and delicate and lovely) were obviously waving with some sort of current. Maka stared at the mermaid's slender, petite body, her small chest modestly covered by a seashell top, and suddenly gasped.

The mermaid was her!

"K—Kid—I—I don't know—"

"I was gonna save it and give it to you for your birthday, but I guess right now was as good a time as any."

"Wha . . . Where did this come from?"

"You." He smiled at her shocked expression, "I mean . . . It was a combination of things."

"What do you mean?"

"My favorite childhood fairy tale is _The Little Mermaid_. Not the Disney version, the original. Do you know it?"

"Yeah. It was way different. The prince falls in love with another girl, and marries her instead. The princess is sad because she's gonna turn into sea foam and die if the prince doesn't fall in love with her. But her sisters come and bring a dagger, and they tell her that she'll live if she kills the prince. She doesn't, and she dies. It's a really sad story."

Kid nodded, "A lot of people probably think her act was unreasonable. Why die when you have a chance to live?"

"Yeah. It seems better to kill the prince for your own survival. Especially since he didn't reciprocate her feelings."

"But . . . if the mermaid killed the prince, the person she loves the most, she would have to live with that for the rest of her life. She would much, much rather die than have to suffer hurting the prince. I don't think the princess was unhappy. Because she knew the person she loves would live on. It was worth it to see him smile with the girl _he_ loves."

Kid looked at her tenderly (it made her basically melt into the floor), and stroked her face softly, his skin velvety, "I'd give anything to see you smile, Maka. Even if I'm in pain."

Maka stared at her (wonderful, sweet, selfless) boyfriend, and felt her eyes well up, "Oh . . . Kid . . ."

He leaned forward and cuddled her to his chest, and kissed her softly, "My little mermaid." He whispered. Maka smiled and stared at the beautiful drawing again. Kid had made her look gorgeous, ethereal, so much so that at first she hadn't recognized the beautiful creature as herself.

Maka was so glad Kid had handed her his sketchbook.

**May I?**

Kid and Maka worked on their project for the better part of two hours, then decided to pop in a movie (_Watchmen_, one of their favorite epic-action movies) while they ate their muffins. Maka had put on her yellow sweater vest and a hoodie, as the night had gotten colder as the evening progressed.

Halfway through the movie, Kid decided to be a tease. Maka was sitting calmly on the couch, curled in his lap, their muffins long gone, when Kid started to slowly (almost maddeningly slow) slide his soft hand up Maka's bare leg. She watched as his hand inched closer and closer to the hem of her skirt, "Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered.

Maka's heart started ka-thunking madly in her chest. Half of her wanted him to stop. The other half wanted him to continue. She sat there, indecisive. His fingers made it to the hem of her skirt, and started to toy with it. He was smiling darkly (he was enjoying this sexual power, she could tell), almost sadistically. He began to slowly drag her skirt, up, up, up. Maka still couldn't decide. Her skirt was about to reveal something—

Maka shoved his hand away, "STOP!"

He chuckled darkly and took her hand, "Just though I'd try it."

She glared at him, half pissed, half amused, "Did that sex scene in the movie get into your head?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. Soul did warn you about me. You liked it, though, yeah?"

She blushed and smiled and buried her face in his shoulder. He laughed again, then blew in her ear, and nibbled on her earlobe.

His soft lips brushed the hollow below her ear (she shivered in delight, he knew what that spot did to her), slow and enticing. His lips moved down her neck, his kissing becoming deeper and fuller, his teeth beginning to make small nips at her skin.

She moaned in pleasure, and she began to kiss along his neck too; his skin (so soft and smooth, delicate pale color she loved so much) was like silk, he tasted smoky and bittersweet, like coffee or sweet ashes. Her hands reached under his shirt, running over the muscular planes of his chest.

He drew back and pulled off his shirt, then kissed her full on his lips, his soft bittersweet tongue running over and around hers. He moaned, now, too, as his hands ran along the slight curves her body formed. He drew back and suddenly gripped the hoodie she had put on earlier, "May I?" He asked.

Maka paused. Should she? She stared at Kid, and she realized she _wanted_ him, she was _hungry _for him, not just heart and mind, but body too, "Yes." She breathed.

He pulled off the hoodie and kissed her along the neck again, breathing deeply and slowly, as though he couldn't get enough of her scent. He drew back again, now gripping the hem of her sweater vest, "May I?" He asked again. He was a gentleman, even when he was seducing her!

Maka nodded, and he pulled it over her head, and he kissed her lips again (oh, how it made her melt!), long and sweet and sexy. He moaned as his hands found her bottom and cupped it, and squeezed, then he moved them back up to grip the bottom of her tank top, "May I?" His voice was a groan of longing, now.

Maka's heart began to ricochet around her chest again. How far would they go? But she didn't want to stop, "Okay."

He pulled her tank top off (her heart was beating a tattoo into her chest) and she was just stripped down to her black lacy bra, now. He sighed in pleasure and ran his hands over her curves once more, squeezed her ass, then his hand found the clip of her bra. He asked the question with his eyes. Maka's heart chucked itself at her ribcage, over and over and over again. She was indecisive again, "I—I don't know."

Kid decided for her. He undid the clasp.

Maka's heart had moved into her throat, somehow. He pulled off her undergarment and stared for a moment, then he kissed her, (her heart almost exploded out of her chest) one of his hands finding her breast, and he squeezed, releasing a small moan from both of them. His breathing was now becoming increasingly heavy, as was hers. This was becoming more and more involved. Maka suddenly wanted him to stop.

She drew back, "I don't want to go any farther. We stop here."

Kid stared at her, his breathing heavy, "Okay." His hand was still on her left breast, "My God, your heart is going a mile a minute." He dropped his hand and pulled on his shirt.

Maka took a deep breath, "I was nervous." She began to dress herself, too.

"Yeah. I need to go to the restroom." He entered the bathroom and shut the door. Maka giggled. More like he had to go poor cold water down his pants.

He was so respectful, even when he was being naughty. Always asking, with large, compelling golden eyes she could even never _think_ to resist, "May I?"

**A/N:** This one turned out to be really sweet, and reallyt sexy, all at the same time. I loooove MaKi fluff!!

The next chapter will be a SoKa, but it will be very different. Much, much more serious. I want to delve deep into the unspoken issues that arise in these two relationships between Soul and Maka and Kid and Maka. I haven't seen any fanfics yet that really, truly dig in and sort things out, so I want to do that. So, no more fluff for a while, unfortunately. But there will be more towards the end, so don't worry. And the more serious chapters will be just as interesting.

Please review!!~~~


	4. Enter the Struggle: SoKa

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

_The Gift_ lyrics copyright (c) Seether. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies do not in any way own these lyrics

**Nightmare**

"_MAKKAAAAA!"_ Soul stopped breathing as he stared at all the red, red, red, pouring from her body.

She choked up some blood and stared at him, "S—Soul . . ." Her hand scrabbled at his chest. Understanding what she wanted, he found her shaking hand and pressed it to his face.

"You're gonna be okay, Maka, d'you hear me, idiot?"

"I—it's not." She coughed again, and more blood flooded over her lips, "I—I love you. K—kiss me."

Soul did as he was told, tasting bitter iron, "Maka, you'll be fine!" He pressed her to his chest, willing her to stay alive.

"S—say it. I lo—" Her weak voice was cut off with more blood.

"I love you, too." Soul whispered.

Maka smiled at him, stroking his face, and her eyes slowly closed. Soul screamed her name as he felt her pulse die . . .

**Awaken**

He jolted awake, drowning in bedsheets, his own (normally musically inclined) voice tearing out his vocal chords. His scream died, and he hugged himself (he'd never been so scared), shaking uncontrollably. His body was drenched in sweat.

**Tears**

For the first time since he was a small boy, he felt hot pricks at the backs of his eyes, and they filled up, and liquid spilled over his cheeks. Years of suppressed sorrow (from his family, his own dark, twisted heart, his fear, anger, negativity) crashed over him, and for once, he let himself cry.

**Comfort**

His relief had always come in the form of small, pattering feet, the smell of the sun, and big green eyes, and when it (he covered his face with his hands and tried to silence his sobs) opened his bedroom door, he tried to tell himself once again that he wouldn't lose her.

"Soul?" Her voice was pure and soft. He turned his head so she wouldn't see his tears, but a low, cracked sob gave him away.

He heard the rustling of her nightgown and the soft pitter-patter of her feet (which he always found so endearing) as she crossed the room. His bed gave a slight squeak as she sat down beside him.

A small, gentle hand closed around his wrist and pried his hand from his face, "Are you okay?"

**Shock**

Soul's eyes were downcast, his long, thick gossamer lashes (tear droplets clung to those fair lashes, it was beautiful) brushing his tan cheeks. Maka was flabbergasted; Soul never cried. She had seen him distressed, angry, in pain before, but she never, not once, had seen him cry. It scared her to see him (he looked so broken, so lost, so weak) like this. What freaked her out the most was the shaking; his body quivered as he hugged her head to his chest, his fingers entangling in her hair.

Soul was strong. So why was he shaking and crying like a child?

Maka wiped and kissed (tasting salt and sorrow) away the tears, "Are you okay?" She asked again. He shook his head, and sobbed more.

Maka hugged her distraught weapon, sending him her wavelength, wrapping him in love, comfort, her purity. This seemed to calm him, and he stopped crying (his words were incoherent, his voice thick with tears) enough to talk.

"I—I had a dream. You—you—were . . . . going to . . ." He seemed unable to continue, but Maka understood.

"Shhhh, calm down. It was only a nightmare."

He took a few deep, shaky breaths, then drew back to look at her. His red eyes were tortured (she had never seen so much pain in someone's eyes) and burning, "But it could become very, horribly real."

She kissed him on the forehead, "Don't worry. It won't."

She pushed him back, so that he lay down, and snuggled under the covers next to him. She would stay with him for the rest of the night, so he wouldn't feel scared anymore.

**Agony**

He was so sick of listening to himself and Maka lie to themselves. It only made him hurt.

"Soul! We'll be okay!" Bright smile. Happy green eyes. Such an easy lie.

"Yeah, Maka. I know." Smiling a smile he didn't feel. His heart would wrench around painfully in his chest. How many times has it been, that he almost lost the love of his life? He'd lost count a long time ago.

Sometimes, Soul wondered if there was something wrong with him. Like his heart was sick. He would put on his visage, pretending everything was okay. He was "cool." For Maka. His friends. Himself. Because, it _was _easier to say there was nothing wrong with him.

Even though he cringed internally, every time Maka would reassure him ("Everything will be fine, Soul."), and he would try to tell himself the same thing. And then she's reckless. Stupid. Almost dies, again. It _kills _him to watch her do that to herself.

And so his heart writhes in pain, uncertainty, fear. He knows why (though he's never admitted it to himself) the possibility of losing her bothers him so much. The majority of his life (for his coloring, his shark-teeth, his fascination with the dark), he had been rejected, spit upon, regarded as a freak, for what he had been born as. His father didn't want a monstrous weapon for a son. His brother was an arrogant fool, whose shadow he had lived under most of his life.

Then he met Maka. He poured his dark, twisted heart into that piece he played for her. And she accepted him. No question. No ridicule. No horror.

Just appreciation. He could never forgive himself if she died.

And he couldn't accept the way she lied to herself, to him, because it was easier than facing the harsh, ugly truth.

"We might be dead tomorrow."

Sometimes, he wished she would say it. Just once.

**Concern**

Maka watched Soul (her weapon, her partner, her best friend, her lover) carefully, only half-listening as Stein pointed things out on a complicated diagram drawn on the blackboard. She had been worried about him lately; his nightmares (he always woke up horrified and lost, drowning in bedsheets) had been getting increasingly worse over the past month. Ever since they had battled that witch, and Maka had almost died. He'd been nightmaring every night, since.

Maka had taken to sleeping in his room, so she could be there when he woke, terrified and drowning in his own horrors. She had even bought him a double bed to replace his twin. Though, this came more out of their romance (they had lost their virginity to each other months ago) than anything else.

Every night, she would invite him to make love (it used to be that they couldn't get enough of each other), hoping it would distract him. Going to bed exhausted might stop his nightmares. But he always said no. The one time she asked why, he muttered something about the fact that he didn't feel too great, and sex would only make him feel empty. This prompted a prying round of questions regarding Soul's well-being. To which he insisted he was fine. Maka was unconvinced, (his eyes had been pleading, begging her not to push) but she didn't ask anymore.

He had been acting very strange lately, too. His normally bright smiles seemed a little strained. He was quieter than usual. He was playing basketball less and less, preferring instead to watch. He didn't make love with her (and he loved her body), even when she tempted him. He laughed a lot less. Soul was becoming increasingly withdrawn, and it was beginning to seriously worry Maka.

"Oi, Maka," He noticed her staring, "What's wrong?"

"Oh . . . Ummm . . . I was wondering if you were okay."

He smiled, but it didn't light up his eyes, "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I'm worried about you, Soul."

His smile dropped, "Why?"

"You've been really weird, lately. You look like you're in pain when you smile. And you never laugh anymore."

His eyes returned to Stein, "I'm fine, Maka."

"I don't believe you."

"Don't you worry about me, idiot. Worry about yourself."

She stared at him, brows furrowed in confusion. There was obviously something wrong. Just like him to deny it, "Don't lie to me."

He turned and looked at her, and his large, red, smoldering eyes were full of pleading, and something else (it was fathomed and strained and churning) Maka didn't recognize, "I really don't want to talk about it."

He seemed to be convincing himself of something. Like he really wanted to say otherwise. Maka stared. Did he wish he could tell her, but he couldn't for some reason?

"Are you sure there isn't something that you need to talk about?" She asked.

He ripped his rubies away from her emeralds, "No. There's nothing."

Maka hadn't missed the agony in his eyes, before he broke their gaze.

**Selfless**

Soul wanted (desperately, longingly, painfully) to say something to Maka. He just couldn't. He wouldn't violate her purity with his own dark, raging pain. She was the most precious person to him, her empathy and innocence were his relief.

But, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't make her face the truth, and watch her fall. There had always been that unspoken rift between them, fr4o m the day of their first mission. They might not live to see the next sunrise. One might have to attend (God forbid) the other's funeral after a mission gone horribly, insanely wrong. They both feel it. They never say anything. He knew that if he acknowledged it, it would only make her weep. Because she believed the lie. That everything was guaranteed to be okay. Even though it wasn't.

Yes, he would deny himself even Maka, his tonic, his medicine, his salvation. And he lets himself live with the pain of suppressing his pain, as he watches his Technician's oblivion, which hurts him so.

He just _had_ to be selfless. For Maka.

**Volunteer**

"Oi, Soul!" The white-haired teen was jolted from his thoughts as his girlfriend waved a clipboard in his face, "How does this one sound?"

They were signing up for volunteer work (much to Soul's displeasure), as several hours of community service where needed in order to graduate Shibusen. Soul read the information sheet that had been shoved in his face, "What the _shit_ are you thinking? I wouldn't be caught dead doing that!"

It was a program to make quilts for retired, elderly Shibusen staff. She snatched the clipboard back, "I thought it looked fun!" She pouted and put the clipboard down, then picked up another, "How about this?"

Soul read it, and nodded, "This'll be fine." It was an after-school camp to teach young children basic Karate. Soul loved young kids (their purity and innocence were a comfort to him), and he thoroughly enjoyed practicing his Karate. He had learned from the best, after all. He smiled (oh, how it hurt to smile) at his instructor and girlfriend, "What are you gonna do?"

"Work in the Shibusen library."

Soul nodded, "Cool."

"Yeah."

**Emptiness**

Eventually, Soul's constant pain turned to numbness. He supposed it was like a defense (yet it was somehow worse than the pain), in order to keep himself from going crazy from the exhaustion. He still pretended, putting on his normal "coolness." He was _so_ tragically good at being fake. Only Maka could see (but she never said anything, at his insistence) the cracks in his fragile visage beginning to show.

He couldn't play the piano anymore. He would sit there and stare (his eyes would begin to water from not blinking) at the keys for hours, willing some music to come. But it was dead. He was dead. He would tap out a few notes (they were discordant and sour and empty), but he crashed it every time. The musical piece didn't flow. For the first time in his life, the piano (because he had nothing to give, no feelings, no _anything_) gave him nothing.

Ebony and ivory had never felt so empty.

**The Uncanny Child**

"That's all for today, guys. Keep up the good work!" Soul watched as his young Karate class began to chatter as they milled about, waiting for Mom or Dad to come pick them up. He had agreed to teach the six-year-old white-belt group.

It gave him relief when they smiled at him, laughed at his (lame) jokes, told him they loved their "Nii-So." They had decided (he had refused to be called "Sensei") on their own to call him that. It made him feel some semblance of something. A few genuine smiles. One or two proud moments. It helped, just a little.

He sighed. He had been wondering lately (and worrying, too) about his mental health. His nightmares were worse than ever, and he didn't feel anything anymore. Goddammit, and he couldn't play the piano, either. It had been his only outlet. And now it didn't even work properly. He was just a broken pianist . . .

"Nii-So?" One of his students (she was a pretty, sweet little girl; beautiful violet eyes and dark, rich brown hair) tugged on his jacket.

Soul crouched to her level, "Yeah, Georgianna?"

"Mommy is here! Bye bye!" She opened her arms, and they hugged, "I love you, Nii-So!"

Soul felt a slight tug at his heart, but nothing more. Dammit, what was _wrong_ with him?

"I love you, too, Georgie." He forced a smile, "Tell your mom you did good today."

"Okay!" She reached up and patted his cheek, cream against apricot, "Nii-So, why are you sad?"

Soul was taken aback, "I—I'm not sad."

"Nii-So is a sad man. Your eyes always cry."

The perception of a child was a great and terrible wonder. Soul sighed and closed his eyes (he was still in awe), then opened them again, "Sometimes, Georgie, grown-ups have to deal with hard things. And it makes them sad."

She tilted her head to the side, huge violet eyes curious, "What makes you sad?"

"Lots of things. Now go, your mom is waiting for you."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, "I hope you're not sad anymore, Nii-So. Bye bye!"

Soul watched as she waved happily and ran towards her mother, who had her daughter's same beauty. Sometimes, the honest child was so much cannier, realized so much more, than the ponderous adult.

**Cut**

Soul sighed as he rubbed the paring knife in his hand with a sponge, his hands sudsy. He was home alone this evening. Maka had her own volunteer work, and Blair was working. This left him to eat dinner alone. He felt (and loneliness was his biggest fear) so deprived.

He hoped Maka came home soon, so he could distract himself. It was too much to be alone (because he hated himself, these days) with his own thoughts and feelings. The emptiness was overwhelming (he refused to put this all on Maka), and nothing could save him from it. Right now, he would give something, _anything _to feel again. Even pain. At least it would be _something._

The weapon turned off the water and began to dry the dishes. He was drying a plate when it slipped from his grip and fell. He swore (couldn't he do _anything _right?) and gathered the fragments of the plate, and threw them away. He then grabbed the vacuum and ran it over the area, to get any little pieces.

He returned to drying the dishes. If only he could play something (he was so desperate) on the piano. He picked up the paring knife and began to dry it. It would help so much. But, when he had no feelings to play, what could he do?

He suddenly stopped, and stared at the knife in his right hand.

He dropped the towel (no, he couldn't), and turned over his left hand to stare at the smooth, bronze skin of his inner forearm. Right now, he would give something (could he really?), _anything _to feel again.

Even pain.

Soul pressed the blade (he couldn't believe he was actually doing this) into his skin, and dragged it across his flesh. Vivid physical pain, beautifully rich and agonizing, blossomed across his arm. He watched the blood bead along the cut, and the bright red, red, red flow over his saturated golden skin. The pain began to fade after a while, so he moved below the first cut, and opened a second.

It had seemed so long since he had felt something. It was worth it (he knew in his heart that this was unhealthy), even if he had to slice his own arm open again and again.

**Distance**

Maka hummed happily as she fumbled with the keys to hers and Soul's apartment. Since she had not been home for dinner, she had stopped at the grocery store (maybe this would cheer Soul up, she hoped) and bought ice cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and whipped cream to make sundaes.

She finally found the right key, and unlocked the door, juggling the grocery bag and the stack of books she had checked out from the library. She was particularly happy about that. Markus Zusak was in that stack, in addition to Bram Stoker (she was gonna reread it for the millionth time), Epictetus, Roald Dahl (she still loved him, even at fifteen), Kathe Koja, Anne Rice (she'd been on a vampire trip lately, ever since she read _Twilight_), and a book on the history and evolution of gothic and symphony rock (Soul had introduced her recently, and she liked it).

Soul was in the kitchen, it looked like he was just finishing cleaning up dinner, "Hey! What did you have?"

Her lover turned from the sink, where he had been drying a dish, "Oi, what's up? Ramen noodles, with veggies. There's some left over in the fridge if you want the rest for lunch tomorrow."

"'Kay." She walked up to the counter beside him and set down the bag, "I had Chinese with Tsubaki. And I bought stuff for ice cream sundaes!"

He leaned over, smiled, (it was painful and fake and strange) and kissed her on the cheek, "Cool. Thanks, babe." Strain on him was visible to her, like a parasite attached to its victim.

"Ha—Have you been okay lately?"

Soul looked up at Maka, then pushed past her to put the dish in the cupboard. He didn't answer her question, but instead pulled out his black iPod and popped the earbuds (red Skull Candies) in. Ugh, she _hated_ it when he avoided her questions like this! Damn smart aleck.

He was wearing a long sleeved shirt for some reason, which was odd. It was almost June in the middle of the Nevada desert. The heat (it was almost 102 degrees) was dreadful today. He must be sweltering! Maka rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's weird tendencies and dropped her satchel and stack of books off in her room.

She paused as she stared at her black bag. What was up with him lately? He had been so . . . distant. And always in pain, it seemed. Or was it something else? He had been majorly withdrawn for the past week. Hell, he hadn't played on his keyboard (it had been his sixteenth birthday gift) all week. And he had practiced and composed every day, up until recently.

She shook her head and made her way back into the living room. He had his volume up so loud, she could hear (how did she recognize this? He had turned her into _such_ a music junkie) that he was listening to Cradle of Filth. She scrunched her nose, she hated screamo. How did he tolerate that stuff?

He was laying on the couch, with his head up on its arm, one of his arms, his left, thrown across his forehead. He had his eyes closed, so his silvery-gossamer eyelashes (they reminded her of spider's silk and ice frost) rested prettily against his skin. Silver fiber against bronze velvet. The deep blue shirt he was wearing (it contrasted beautiful and sharp with his hair and skin) looked good with his coloring.

Maka stood over him, and ran her hand through his hair. He opened one eye, bright blood red (it always made her think of rubies and roses and battle-blood sunsets), and then closed it again. She reached down and plucked out a Skull Candy.

"Don't you want some ice cream?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Get up, then."

He opened his eyes, "In a minute, I will."

The weapon closed his eyes again, slightly head-banging to the beat of his song. He must have had it on shuffle, because _Lies_ by Evanescence was playing, now. She watched him, admiring his open, gentle facial structure. The round face, adorable upturned, button nose, full, luscious lips. He sighed, then got up, and kissed her, "I love you."

This was random, "I—I love you too."

He nodded, and went into the kitchen, "What kind of ice cream did you get?"

"One of your favorites, Neapolitan."

"Cool." He hadn't smiled since she'd asked about his well-being. He only had smiled (it was painful to watch, like a dying butterfly) once since she got home. He should have been much happier than he was acting. He loved ice cream sundaes.

She followed him, and reached for his left forearm, and wrapped her hand around it. He flinched visibly and looked around at her, and for a moment, his eyes were (like a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look) wide and fearful, then he relaxed. Maka raised an eyebrow, he sure was acting funny today, "Are you okay?" She repeated her question from before.

Soul hesitated for a second (he seemed to be indecisive about something) then forced that strange, painful smile, "Yeah. I'm fine, Maka."

He wasn't fine. It was hard for them to lie to each other since they knew every little mannerism, every small habit, of the other person. Soul held her gaze, his eyes pleading her not to ask any more. Maka nodded, "Okay. I was just wondering."

She watched his back as he pulled the groceries out of the bag. He seemed to be moving his left arm gingerly, like it was painful. Was he injured? And why was he so distant and quiet lately? And he couldn't smile properly, anymore.

What was wrong with Soul?

**Pretending**

Soul was discovering he had a hidden talent for acting. He could laugh with Black Star, show interest as Kid described the latest news from Shinigami-sama, easily discuss the latest movie he and his friends had seen. All while he felt nothing. He had even learned to smile normally. Only Maka saw through him. And even then, her view was partially opaque. He told no one of his cutting (though, he knew he had a serious problem, and probably needed help), and he continued to hide the damage on his arms, sweltering in the May Nevada heat.

Maka kept asking him why he was dressing that way. She had quit wearing her black jacket, and wore only tank tops to school, now, instead of her usual dress shirt and sweater vest. This year, the spring and summer (global warming or whatever, he supposed) where unusually hot.

He watched as his friends laughed. It was free period, and Black Star was in the midst of describing a particularly funny occasion in which he had apparently tried to water Tsubaki's window garden using a Super Soaker gun, with disastrous results.

Soul pretended to laugh and smile (how he wished he could be as carefree as they were), along with his friends. Did they ever notice his laugh sounded a little off? What would they think if they saw all the partially healed scars riddling his arms? Probably be disgusted. Only freaks hurt themselves on purpose, after all. And he had grown up being called a freak. The last thing he wanted was to hear it from his friends.

Kid wiped a few tears from his eyes, "Ahhhhh . . . that's hilarious. How water-damaged was the window seat?"

"Not at all." Tsubaki smiled big, "It was just a really funny moment!"

Maka punched Black Star in the arm, but she was smiling, "You idiot! What were you thinking, using a water gun?"

"The great me always uses a water gun! NYAHAHAHA!!" He laughed manically, then jumped up on the table.

Kid looked up at his friend, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I AM A GOD!! THE GREAT ME HAS AN ETERNAL HALO OVER HIS HEAD! I AM FOREVER—"

Kid facepalmed, then pulled out his textbook (Black Star's back was to him) and jammed it into the backs of Black Star's knees. The assassin meister tripped comically (it was elegantly, beautifully , ridiculous, his arms and legs where everywhere, flailing about) and fell off the table. Everyone laughed as he got up, rubbing his head.

Soul tried to laugh, but he couldn't. He couldn't go on like this (his skin had been having trouble healing of late), lying to his dearest friends all the time, pretending nothing was wrong with him. He felt helpless all the time, as though his emptiness and his nightmares (all he saw, now, when he closed his eyes was Maka's death) where beyond his control. They had been getting worse, to the point where he was afraid to sleep, now.

Maka still slept with him in his room, but he never changed clothing in her presence, and he had begun locking the door during his shower. She had been suspicious of his strange behavior; his sudden refusal to expose his body to her, and had asked him why several times. He made excuses. He wanted more privacy (but they where lovers, she would insist), he was insecure (this only worked for about two seconds, after she ran her eyes over his well-muscled chest) about his body, he wanted more space. She knew there was something wrong (but he could not, would not, burden her with this horrific hell), and she wanted to know what was wrong. It was a significant mark of her respect for Soul's feelings that she didn't ask.

The demon scythe stood abruptly, "Bathroom." he muttered. His friends stared for a second (thank God he was a weapon, he never had to carry a razor blade, knife, or anything), slightly surprised by his sudden need, then went back to chattering. All except Maka and Kid, they both looked concerned. He knew Maka had been telling Kid (they had become good friends, lately, he was like a surrogate brother, she said) about his strange behavior. Maka knew better than to not say anything, but Kid stood up, too, and followed Soul. Dammit, and Kid was perceptive, more so than Maka, he might've guessed Soul's cutting habit.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Kid grabbed his arm, "Um—are you sure? You don't need anyone to come with you?"

Soul gently disengaged himself from his friend, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Kid was still watching as Soul exited the room. He followed.

**Discovery**

The pain was searing and intoxicating, it burned Soul's skin as he sliced into his flesh. Blood pumped from his open vein, red and luscious and hot, its bitter smell of iron and salt and battle filling his nose. He made himself _sick_. How much longer would he continue to do this to himself, just to feel something, because he had no emotion, anymore?

Suppressed by pain and nightmares and fear, Soul was reduced to this. Self-mutilation. He had looked it up in the Shibusen library the other day. Apparently, it was an actual psychological disorder, and he wasn't the only twisted monster who inflicted it on themselves. Go figure. He had always been strange, anyway.

He heard the door open, and footsteps. He opened another cut as the pain from the last began to dull, pulling his scythe-arm across his skin. He jumped and gasped, cutting a little deeper than intended, as someone knocked on his door.

"Soul? Are you in there?" It was Kid's voice.

Soul returned his right arm from weapon to human, and grabbed some toilet paper and wrapped his left arm, watching the red lust-blossoms corrupt the pure white.

"I'm fine." He answered, staring at the green stall door, "Why're you so concerned?"

"Are you decent?" Kid asked.

"Yeah, why?"

Soul jumped and hid his arms behind his back as a pale finger appeared around the lock. It crunched horribly as Kid gutted the lock, and swung the door open, Soul's black and yellow coat swinging on the hook. Dammit, why did he dress in layers, today? It was easier to cover things when you were wearing a long sleeved top. He was just in his t-shirt, scars exposed to the world.

Kid stared warily at his friend, "Are you sure you're okay?"

Soul shuffled so his back remained to Kid as he entered the stall, "Yeah."

Before Soul could do anything, the taller boy had slammed him against the wall and grabbed his left arm. Kid stared at the angry blotches of red on snow, and pulled off the toilet paper. Soul couldn't look at him, ashamed.

"Wh—what are you _doing_ to yourself? What the _fuck_ is this?"

Soul snatched his arm back, "I cut, okay?"

Soul had been expecting Kid to recoil, not understanding, but he was surprised. His friend's eyes softened, and he pulled off some more toilet paper and wrapped Soul's arm tightly, "You need help. I had no idea you were hurting so much."

Soul shook his head, and pulled on his jacket, "Not hurting, numb. I do it to feel something."

"What happened to you to make you feel this way?"

"Nightmares."

Kid beckoned to him, "C'mon. We should talk to Dr. Stein."

"I don't want anybody to know. Please, _please_ don't tell anyone."

Kid threw a friendly arm around his friend's shoulder, and made him walk, "It will be confidential. I can't let you keep doing this, you need _help_, Soul." He pushed the door open, and Soul threw his arm off, annoyed. Kid continued, "And what about Maka? She tries so hard to protect you from the enemy, and now she has to protect you from yourself? What'll she think when she finds out?"

Soul stopped, horrified, "No. You can't tell Maka."

Kid gave him a push in the back, and they started walking again, "Why? She's your Technician, she has every right to know."

Soul shoved a hand through his hair and pulled at it, "Every night, I watch her die, Kid! I live in constant fear, now. I can't even sleep, I'm running on about three hours right now. Nothing but Hell when I close my eyes. I can't do that to her! What can I say, you might be dead tomorrow?"

"She knows that's a risk."

"She lies to herself. She doesn't think about it. She refuses to believe that the next mission will—will be—"

"It's normal to be scared."

"Not when you watch your girlfriend bleed to death every night."

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

They stopped outside of Stein's office, "Yeah. So what is medicine gonna do? What do you do, Kid, when your life is living hell, but you don't want to die?"

Kid's face hardened in pain, "I don't know. I'm just an undeveloped shinigami."

"My body isn't sick . . . there's something wrong with my soul. Pills and shit won't do anything." Soul backed away, "I'm going back to class. Don't tell anyone, especially Maka. You can tell Stein if you want, but I'm not dealing with any medical diagnosis crap."

He turned around, but he hadn't missed the stress on the young shinigami's face. Poor Kid. He had just put his friend in a terrible dilemma. Why did Soul only ever hurt the people he cared for?

**Ruined**

Soul and Maka got home later than usual, because Stein had called Soul after school. The weapon had told his meister (she knew he was lying), that it was for make-up work, as he was behind in weapon biology. She knew he had a B in the class, and loved the subject (strange for him to like school), but she didn't ask any questions. She sighed, they hadn't been communicating much lately.

Maka cracked the spaghetti in half, and dropped it into the roiling pot. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight, one of his favorites. She was hoping she could get him to talk.

She set the pot on low, double-checked the sauce, which was simmering in another pot, and left it and entered the living room, where Soul was watching television and listening to his iPod. He had been doing that a lot lately (as though he couldn't create any music, so he gave it to himself), though he hadn't touched his piano in over a week and a half. He normally listened for inspiration, and stayed up late writing like crazy. She knew to get earplugs when he had those red Skull Candies in all day. His out-of-sorts worried her. Everything about him worried her, these days.

She sat down beside him, "What're you listening to?"

He handed her an earbud, "Here."

She took it and stuck it in her ear, "Ah, _How to Save a Life_ by The Fray. Good song."

He nodded, "Yeah."

She cuddled into his chest, "Mmm."

She turned to kiss (she missed his body so much, she missed the old Soul so much) him, sweet and slow. He exhaled and his arms went around her (it looked like he missed her, too) and he kissed up and down her neck. She smiled and pulled away, and began to unbutton his jacket. Lately, he had been unwilling to be in her presence nude, he always was fully clothed, long sleeves and all. It was unusual. He was allowing her to undress him, for once.

She kissed his mouth again and pulled off his jacket, and ran her hand down his bare arm. He flinched and pulled away as she reached his forearm, which was strangely not smooth. She pulled away.

And stared.

Her breath (no, she wasn't really seeing this) froze in her lungs. His arms had cuts all up and down them. Raw and red, it looked like the wounds (she had never seen anything so ugly) had been reopened repeatedly.

Soul jumped away from her, hiding his arms behind his back, "I—it's nothing. I just—it—it's from our last few missions."

It was a sad lie, even he knew it, "What happened?" She asked.

He cast his eyes down, and studied his socks. He didn't answer her question.

Her eyes burned, filling with tears of fright, afraid of what his answer would be, "What happened, Soul?!" Her voice shook with emotion.

He looked back up at her, and his bright red eyes were empty (it was the emotion from before she hadn't recognized) and tortured, "I—I—did it—" He looked away, "—to myself."

Maka's tears spilled over. She had heard of this. Cutting. She had read about it. People who were in either a lot of pain or numb used it as a form of relief. But, Soul of all people!

WHY?!

"Why?" It shouted in her head, and whispered on her breath.

Soul sat down. If Maka had ever seen a zombie, he was sitting on the couch in front of her.

"Nightmares. They won't stop. And I can't—" His voice caught in his throat, "—I can't stop thinking, every time we go on a mission. It's gonna happen. Come true. But you just . . . never think about it."

"Never think about it?" She walked over and took his damaged arm, "Soul, I think about it every day."

"Yeah." His eyes widened, as though he saw a specter, like he was burning alive, "You don't live in the hell I do."

"Why do you do it?"

His voice was dull and flat. Dead, "The pain became too much. So I feel nothing, now. So I cut. It's the only way I can feel something, physical sensations. And pain is one of the most vivid. So it works."

Maka cried harder (no, this can't be happening) and shook her head, "I can't believe you didn't tell me, Soul! Why didn't you say anything, if these nightmares were bothering you so much?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

Anger suddenly flared, red, hot venom, poisonous and vile. She slapped him (he flinched, and his eyes seemed to fill with more emptiness) across the face, hard. She sobbed and ran into her room.

Upset her. Yeah right.

Too late for that. He was lost to her, now.

She had been wondering

if he felt something

like that.

Cutting. Horrific.

Maka collapsed onto her pillow and cried,

and wondered if this

was what they meant

when they said

living Hell.

**The Gift**

Soul rubbed his hands over his face. GODDAMMIT! Why the fuck did these things happen? He had had a moment of weakness, lust. Another physical feeling he could enjoy, in order to indulge his dead, exhausted heart. And it had exposed him. He laid on the couch. His iPod blared in his ears. _Diary of Jane_. Breaking Benjamin. Naming song and artist had become automatic, like a reflex.

He had the music to drown out her sobs. His guilt prevented him from being there for her, apologizing. And it's not like it would matter anyway. Everything he did was fake, now. His apology would have no emotion. Her slap still stung. He didn't even have the energy to cut himself, though he craved the pain, slightly. The slap was enough.

He recognized the opening notes of the next song in his shuffle. _The Gift._ Seether. It was a good song.

_Hold me now I need to feel relief/  
Like I never wanted anything/  
I suppose I'll let this go and find a reason I'll hold on to/_

_I'm so ashamed of defeat._

Soul sat up. It was like the song had reached into his soul, and wrenched up all his emptiness, his fear, his fucked up psychology. He began to sing along.

"_And I'm out of reason to believe in me/  
I'm out of trying to get by."_

And the chorus. He sang louder, he loved these lyrics.

"_I'm so afraid of the gift you give me/  
I don't belong here and I'm not well/  
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living/  
Right on the wrong side of it all." _

Maka. Her love. His gift. He had feared her reaction, if he told her about his pain. Because he feared corrupting her. Because, the truth was, he felt he had never deserved her. From the beginning, from the moment they first met. He didn't deserve her.

He _was_ sick of lying. They should acknowledge the rift between them. They might be dead after their next mission. He'll make her say it. He'll make her know it. And she'll fight against it, like she fights against every hard thing that faces her. He'll watch, and fall in love more deeply, because she was his strength, he hers.

"_I can't face myself when I wake up/  
And look inside a mirror/  
I'm so ashamed of that thing/  
I suppose I'll let it go/  
Until I have something more to say for me/  
I'm so afraid of defeat/  
And I'm out of reason to believe in me/  
I'm out of trying to defy."_

He _hated_ himself right now. With a passion. And he was afraid of losing everything, including the beautiful, crying girl in the next room, whom he had hurt so, so much. She would give everything she had, he knew, if it meant making him right again. He sung as the chorus came on again. And then he harmonized, with the next verse, it was one of the best lines, yet. He should sing it to Maka.

"_Hold me now I need to feel complete/  
Like I matter to the one I need."_

Maka had always made him feel the most complete, the most whole. She was the tonic that filled him, when nothing else could.

"_I'm so afraid of the gift you give me/  
I don't belong here and I'm not well/  
I'm so ashamed of the lie I'm living/  
Right on the wrong side of it all."_

Soul was done,

exhausted.

He supposed that

most people had things

figured out.

But

not him.

He didn't

want to die.

But his life

had become

a torture.

What did you

do

when you just

floated?

Death was

A defeat,

But living

was such a

scary

thing

to do.

"Even if everything is in vain, I . . . I can't stop my beating heart!"

-Mitsuki Koyama, _Full Moon wo Sagashite_

**A/N:** I'm very sorry if this was hard to read. It was hard for me to write. Soul and Maka are both in a difficult place, right now.

A FEW CLARIFICATIONS:

Soul is NOT suicidal. There is a major difference between the psychologies of suicidism and self-mutilation. Suicidism is the desire to die, which Soul does not have, and that is specified in the story.

The reason I included such a serious subject in this story is NOT because it is "cool," or a "fad," or "emo." I have never understood how people can believe that, especially since it's obvious from this story that it's a very ugly place to be. Cutting/self-harm is a serious problem that many teenagers face, and it is also something I have personally faced. Though I have fortunately never acted on those desires, and have never actually hurt myself. This is a heavy issue misunderstood by many people, and I wanted to shed light on it.

Soul also seems OOC, but he his also not himself right now. He's having a human moment. He'll be better in the next chapter. Also, just because someone cuts, does not mean they are associated with emo/dark culture. Likewise, participants in this culture do not all necessarily cut.

Next chapter will be a MaKi, serious like this, one, though I don't think as serious as this. From now on, because of the seriousness of the story, I will refrain from posting author's notes at the beginning and the end, other than a "Please review" and a notification of the couple the next chapter will include.

Please review, I very much appreciate it.


	5. Dominatrix Complex: MaKi

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

**Anxiety**

"Maka! _Maka!_"

Sometimes, Kid would shout her name like that, his (he normally sounded calm, level, his rich baritone even) voice grating against his ears in its anxiety, its urgency. As though the anxious tendencies in his OCD temporarily gave themselves over to her well-being.

He would call her name like that when she didn't answer him on the phone (Soul or Blair could distract her at times), and the silence stretched too long. He would shout running into class, looking hassled and scared, then his large golden eyes would relax (he was always so relieved to find her sitting between himself and Soul) when he saw that she had survived the mission of the previous night.

He would walk up, kiss her on the lips, ruffle her golden hair, then readjust the pigtails so the symmetry remained consistent. He'd sit down and smile, and ask how last night's mission went. As though he weren't panicking just a second ago. He knew his biggest fear was losing her, and he just _had_ to (every hour, every minute, every second of his day) reassure himself she was still alive.

Kid couldn't function (though he never says it to her) without Maka.

**Heart**

"What CD do you wanna listen to?" Kid looked up from adjusting the volume knob. He had gotten (courtesy of his rich, indulgent father) a huge, shiny, brand-new, state-of-the-art stereo for passing top-grade in his finals. He was third in their class after Maka and Ox Ford.

Maka looked particularly (she'd dressed up just for him) cute today, she thought. Instead of her usual schoolgirl uniform (today was a Saturday), Maka was wearing a long-sleeved (it was white cotton with black lace overlay, beautiful and elegant, somewhat gothic) off-the-shoulder top, and dark, dark wash (almost black) skinny jeans. Kid was casually handsome today in a simple white dress shirt (the sleeves were rolled halfway up his arms, and it was slightly unbuttoned, the collar open so she could see the lovely hollow between his collarbones, where she loved to kiss him), and jeans.

Maka shrugged, "I don't know." She stared at the piece (it was black, gray and white, with two huge speakers either side, imprinted with the Death family skull-insignia) of technology, "Why did Shinigami-sama get you this, anyway?"

Kid shrugged, "He said it was something a teenager would like."

Maka snorted. Kid wasn't exactly what one would call a "typical" teenager, "Do you like it?"

"Yes, I guess. It would suit Soul more. He's the one with the impeccable music collection."

Maka stared at the woofer--it was the most ginormous thing she had ever _seen_. Kid's new stereo must get some majorly amazing bass, "Yeah. He has about twenty days worth of music on his iTunes library."

"I only have three day's worth."

"Hey, that's still pretty good."

The young shinigami shrugged, "I guess. So, c'mon, you pick." He tossed his CD portfolio to her, where she was sitting on his bed.

Maka caught the portfolio, and paged through it. Lots of classical music. Beethoven, Mozart, and lots of soundtracks. From musicals (she saw Wicked, Phantom of the Opera, the entire Harry Potter collection, Nightmare Before Christmas, Pirates of the Caribbean) and movies alike. She turned another page and stopped; she was surprised to find the the entire Apocalyptica discography (the CD's tucked neatly into their pockets, symmetrically, of course) spread across two pages, "You like them?"

He walked over to see what she was looking at, "I love them. They're one of my favorite bands."

Maka pulled out _Worlds Collide_ and handed it to him. He took the CD and spun it on his finger, "This is one of your most favorite albums, right?" He walked back towards the stereo and pressed the disc-spin button. The device clicked and whirred as the eight disc changer spun to an empty space. Maka was surprised he had already figured out (he didn't strike her as the most technologically-savvy person) how to work the thing.

"It _is_ one of my favorites." She answered. But, she'd never told him that before, "How did you know?"

Kid looked up and smiled, "Soul told me." And he pressed play.

The first piece was named after the album title. It began low, bass cellos pounding, sinister and ominous. The woofer did the bass cellos justice, it pounded, forcing everything in the room to its rhythm and seemed to take over Maka's heartbeat. Then the lighter cellos laced over the bass (sweet, rich alto notes weaving in and around and through each other), creeping in tender and slow. The soft music built to a crescendo, then burst into a strong medley of electric guitars and deep, rich cello score (Maka loved music like this, the kind that doused her in sound, rhythm, fathomed and many-layered), tense and powerful and elegant.

Kid sat down beside Maka, humming along with the melody of the symphony rock piece, directing (his notes were probably completely off) with his right hand. Maka leaned against him as he threw his left arm around her, continuing to direct with his right hand. He had his eyes closed, enjoying the exquisite piece. Maka giggled and leaned back, his hand had almost hit her in the face three times already. And he looked so silly, smiling with his eyes closed like that! But she understood his pleasure, Apocalyptica produced music she liked to call "soul resonance quality." It was the kind (so captivating, so tangible, you feel as if you could reach out and grasp it) that stirred your heart and excited your mind, and (most of all) it beat to the sound of your soul. Or maybe your soul took on the rhythm of the song. This was the music that always spoke to Maka the most.

Maka flinched as Kid's waving hand finally bumped her in the face, and she laughed. He opened his eyes and cupped her face, "Oh, I'm sorry! Did that hurt?"

Maka smiled and shook her head, "No. I'm fine."

Kid wrapped her in a hug (his arms were strong and warm, and she always felt safe in them) and gave her a kiss, "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay. It didn't even hurt."

"I still feel bad." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, "You look adorable today, by the way." And he smiled (no dark, death-god grin, no power-crazy, I'm-gonna-beat-you battle smirk), a small, soft, sweet smile that turned her legs to rubber bands and made her stomach turn, and knot itself, jump around, and turn again, and she wondered, what does he do to make her feel like that?

He leaned his face against her hair, one of his hands toying with a pigtail, "Chichiue said there are new missions for our grade, tomorrow. Summer assignments." His voice rumbled against her ear, even and soothing.

Maka sighed, "Pre-Kishin never leave people alone."

She felt his shoulders move in a shrug, "The job of a Shibusen student is important. You can never rest."

"Uuugghhh. I _need_ a vacation."

"Well, Chichiue gave me a mission to Las Vegas, and I can't do it alone."

"When is it?"

"We would leave tomorrow afternoon." He drew back, and his eyes she loved so much found hers, "You game?"

Maka pouted, "I wanted to go to the library tomorrow."

Kid chuckled and kissed her, his soft, supple mouth lingering on hers, and he murmured against her lips, "Thanks, Maka. Tell Soul I owe him one, too."

"Mmmmmm."

She dug her tongue in, and sighed happily (he was bittersweet, the taste of sugar and poison) as she tasted him. He sighed, too, holding the kiss a little longer, then pulled back, ever-so-slowly so as not to ruin the moment, "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I always promise you that."

"And then you break it. Don't you glare at me, it's not my fault I know! Go talk to Soul, he's the one who tells me everything!"

"After _you_ ask." Maka sighed, and ran a hand through his fine, inky hair, disrupting his stark, white, even sanzu lines, "I can take care of myself, Kid. I'll be fine, and you'll be there. Why do you freak out so much?"

Her lover's face darkened, and he (great, the comment had pissed him off,_ now_ she was gonna hear it!) growled darkly, low in his throat. His large arms reached around her, pulling her petite, toned body to him, and his rich, warm baritone voice vibrated in her ear, "Because, my darling, you are so, so very, _very_ precious to me."

She was majorly irritated, now, "But I need to be allowed to fight, you know. I'm not a helpless damsel."

Kid chuckled into her ear, and she could feel his voice rumble in her chest, "I know. But I can try."

Maka tried to pull back, but his strong arms held her. Dammit, when did he get so strong? She growled and struggled against his hold, but he only held her tighter and laughed. He had that stupid cocky (the kinds he always had when he faced an enemy he thought beatable) grin on his face. If only she could smack it off!

"Sssshhh-shhhhh. Calm down." His attempts at soothing only (damned if she gave into that) made her struggle more, but despite this, one of his large, creamy hands found her head, and he gently pressed her ear to his chest, right over his heart.

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump_.

She stopped struggling. His strong shinigami heart beat the rhythm of Kid's life force into her ear. His chest expanded and contracted (what lovely music, the sound of living) with his lungs, and his breath tickled her hair at regular intervals as he exhaled. She could hear his breathing, too.

_Hhhhhh-haah, Hhhhhh-haah, Hhhhhh-haah. _

_Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump._

He stroked her hair, and she felt his soft, silky lips press against her cheekbone, "You know, it beats just for you." He whispered the words into her ear, tender and quiet.

The melody of Kid's life force laced over the sound of Apocalyptica's; this was the best music she had ever heard, her most favorite song. These small reminders (and there were times where she held him in awe, saw him not as her equal, but superior, and wondered if she could ever match such unleashed power) comforted her, that despite his shinigami heritage, with all his powers, abilities, strength, he was still fundamentally human. She could hear that he had a life force too (he could take so much before he was truly wounded), that it wasn't untouchable to destruction. If he was cut, he'd bleed. If he cried, salty tears would leak from his eyes.

It reassured her to know how very, vulnerably, human Death was.

**Trap**

Kid tightened his arm around Maka's waist as the famous lights (dazzling, psychedelic, blindingly hypnotic) of Las Vegas came into view. He swayed to the left, and Maka's slender body moved with his, perfectly in unison, in order to turn Beelzebub. He half-closed his eyes as the breeze dashed his hair against his eyes, so they wouldn't scratch irritably at his eyeballs. Maka adjusted Soul on her shoulder (she need to watch where she pointed her weapon), nearly hitting him in the face. The lights grew closer as they descended, and he squinted at the sheer brightness of it; his death god eyes (the ability to see in the dark) where reflective like a cat's, thus sensitive to very bright lights. The music grew louder (he disliked harsh, crashing rap like this) too, pounding incessantly. He looked straight down to find gray, grainy cement rushing at them, and he pulled the skateboard up, allowing them to land gently among the swirl of humanity that was Las Vegas.

Maka stepped off, and Soul immediately transformed (he complained loudly of the long trip), and stretched out the kinks in his back that resulted from being in weapon form for too long. Kid reached into his pockets and released his own demon double-teamed guns. They flew from his hands, and transformed into Liz and Patti Thompson (they stretched and complained loudly too, joints popping as things moved back into place), two of his most favorite people in the world. Damn, if only they were symmetrical! It would make things even better.

Maka reached out and took his hand, lacing her small, calloused fingers through his, "What now?" She had to shout over the infernal noise of the city.

"I was told by Chichiue that the place we're looking for is called Smasher's Paradise. It's supposed to be a rave club or something."

Soul stepped closer to them, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure, "But we're not twenty-one. How'll we get in?"

Kid reached into his pocket and pulled out five fake Nevada State ID's, "Chichiue gave me these. Here." He handed his friend the one with the name Soul Eater Evans on it, and had his birth-date at March twenty-first, nineteen-eighty eight. Kid handed the fake ID's to his other friends, his own and Maka's birth-dates in eighty-eight, Liz's and Patti's in eighty-seven, as they where a year older than everyone else.

Soul looked at Maka, "There's no way Maka's gonna get in, even with a fake. Uh-uh. Especially with her flat chest."

"Makaaaaaa-CHOP!" Maka pulled a huge-ass book out of seemingly nowhere and cracked it over her partner's head.

The teenage weapon clutched at his skull, "OOOUUCH!! Where do you pull those things from?!"

"It's magic!" Maka spun around happily and looped her arm through Kid's, and they began walking.

Soul fell into step beside his Technician, "You could totally make money off of that. Slight-of-hand kinda thingy." He rubbed at his head, "I'm so glad we weren't born as siblings. I don't think I would have survived past childhood."

Maka smiled playfully, "Touche. We're basically surrogates."

Kid laughed, "Yeah, but at least he's at the age now where he can take it!"

Patti skipped ahead of them, arm linked with Liz's, "Lookie! Lookie! I see it, Kid!"

The two meisters and the weapon looked up to see a flashing blue and green sign that read "Smasher's Paradise - Where the good times CRASH." A long line of hopefuls where waiting outside to get in. Kid disengaged himself from Maka and pulled out his fake ID, "C'mon." He walked up to the guard at the front of the line. He was a huge guy, almost twice Kid's height, and he seemed (it was five foot ten versus six foot five) to puff up even more as the young god approached, trailed by his friends.

Kid flashed a casual smile, "Evening."

The guard gave him the stank-face, all tough-guy-I-don't-deal-with-kids, "Waddaya want?"

Kid held up his ID, "My friends and I are regulars, here." He lied.

The guard snatched the piece of plastic and squinted at it, "You don't look old 'nough to me. Nonna ya do. 'Sept maybe the two girls in red."

"Flip it over, please."

The guard flipped the card to find the Death family crest staring back at him, "Shit! Sorry, I had no idea you where a VIP. Come on in!" He smiled, suddenly pleasant, and undid the rope blocking the entrance way, and beckoned to them, "Come through, come through." Kid held out his hand for Maka, playing casual. The bouncer nodded to the young couple, "Pretty girl you got there. Treat her well."

Kid nodded and smiled, "I will."

The club was a mushy, sweaty mess of people (Kid sighed, he _hated_ huge crowds) jumping up and down to power techno. The beat of the music penetrated everything in the room, bouncing in Kid's chest. Soul, the hopeless music junkie, nodded to the pounding bass as they walked. Maka leaned over and asked (or, rather, shouted, in this noise) something in the weapon's ear, and he answered her. Kid assumed she had been asking who the artist was and what the song was called. She had developed quite an interest in music, too, because of her partner.

She squeezed Kid's hand, and leaned over, "Where do we go?" She shouted.

Kid bent to speak in her ear, "We go to the bar and ask for a Mr. Sanders. He'll give us the information we need."

She nodded and leaned back, "Sounds good."

They approached the bar, where a beautiful punk (she was pale, curly, silvery-green hair, neon eye shadow, cherry-red, luscious lips, and the longest, loveliest eyelashes Kid had ever seen) girl was attending. He wove through several patrons, and leaned against the chrome bar, and waited. The girl glanced at him, smiled, and winked as she topped off a Miller Light and handed it to her waiting customer. She turned, wiped off her hands, and walked over, "Hey! What's up? My name's Tania. Welcome to to the Paradise, what would you like to drink?"

Kid leaned in so she could hear him, "We're here to see someone. A Mr. Sanders?"

Her huge violet eyes widened, and she stepped back, "Yeah. Okay, I'll take you to him. OI! DANIEL!" She shouted to a guy with orange hair and blue eyes who had been attending to customers on the other side of the bar. He looked up, "Yes?"

Tania jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the students, "I need to take these guys in the back. You can do double for a while?"

He nodded, and the bar tenderess turned back to them, "'Kay. Follow me." She walked to the end of the bar and around it, and joined their group. She beckoned to them, and they followed, Soul falling into step beside her. He flashed her a sweet smile, and she smiled back, "You're cute! What's your name?"

"Soul."

They stopped at a door leading into the back of the club, "Soul? Odd name. Is it a nickname?" She pushed the door open, and they found themselves in a dimly-lit hallway.

"Nope, it's my birth-name. Guess you could say my parents had odd taste."

"Indeed. Here you are!" She pushed open another door, and a luxurious room lay beyond. A teenage boy who looked about their age was sitting at the table, caught up in a game of cards with another, older man. The teenager had exotic coloring (Kid wondered if he was albino), silvery pinkish-white hair, snowy skin, (he was paler even than Kid) pale pink eyes. The boy looked up, "Three to see me, Tania?"

"No, Sanders, five." She gestured to the Thompsons as they followed Kid and Maka in.

"Alright. Thank you very much, Tania."

"Yep. Let me know when you're all done." She nodded and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

Mr. Sanders dropped his card hand, face-down, and stood up, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr.--?"

Kid held out his hand to shake, "Death. We come from Shibusen."

The boy took Kid's hand, "Ah, the son of the famous God of Death! Good to know I can meet the future Reaper before the end. I'm Terrien Sanders. What can I do for you?"

Maka stepped forward, "We're looking for a pre-Kishin. We were told by Shinigami-sama that you would know of its whereabouts."

Terrien turned his gaze on Kid's girl, and the young shinigami thoroughly disliked the way the other boy's eyes roved over her, hungrily, roughly, drinking in Maka's delicate heart-shaped face, beautiful green eyes, fine, angelic blonde hair, the slender shape of her figure, probably undressing her in his mind. Kid's hands involuntarily curled into fists (his yellow eyes turned their death-daggers on, ready to dominate), and he shifted into a fighting stance. Soul noticed his friend's discomfort, and shook his head slightly at the angry god. Showing aggression towards any potential informants was not the best way to obtain intelligence.

Maka seemed to detect Kid's discomfort too, as she reached out her hand and took Kid's arm, sending the silent message that she was his, "So, do you know anything?"

Terrien straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace back towards the wall, where a huge Van Gogh print hung, "You are students of Shibusen, yes?"

Soul moved protectively to Maka's other side, and took her hand. Kid guessed he sensed danger, "Yeah. Why do you care?"

Their informant turned and looked over his shoulder, and smiled darkly, "Oh, don't you know? Shibusen students are my entire business. In fact, _souls_ are my entire business."

Kid gasped, as realization suddenly hit him, as well as the full force of the soul of the person before him. He held out his hands, "Liz! Patti! Transform!"

"Yeah!"

"Okaaayyy~!"

Maka spun Soul, in demon scythe form, still glowing, "You felt it, too?"

Kid caught his guns and spun them around his pinkies, and stopped them pointing at Terrien--the pre-Kishin they had been searching for.

The boy turned to face them fully and smiled, revealing sharp saw-teeth much like Soul's, "I was waiting for you to catch on. The soul scrambler installed in the room is quite effective."

So that's why their soul perception hadn't picked it up! A soul scrambler mixed the wavelength of the people present in the room (it must have turned off, because the reddish-purple Kishin egg burned brightly against Kid's eyes, now), so that everyone appeared to have an ordinary soul. It was a very rare, very expensive device. This pre-Kishin must have been god-awful rich to be able to afford one. Kid cocked his guns and glared at the creature, his natural antithesis, whom he hated by nature, "I suggest you surrender. It'll save you a lot of trouble."

Terrien's smile widened, "Really? You think? I don't have you right where I want?"

Maka glared death at the pre-Kishin, "Shut up! I'm here to take you soul! HAAAAA!!!" She rushed Terrien, holding Soul over her head, and brought the scythe swinging down on his head. The boy grabbed the handle, stopping the blade inches from his face, "You're cute when you're mad." A strange statement in the present circumstance. Maka tried to yank Soul from his grasp, but his fingers tightened, and suddenly, black electric force crackled over his hand and down the shaft of Soul. Maka yelped in pain and let go, and her weapon was released as he transformed back into a human. Maka gasped and bent to inspect his face; blood was pouring from his mouth and nose, and his normally golden skin was ashy. Maka caught him and gently laid him down as he fainted; probably lost too much blood rapidly.

Kid stepped forward, and squeezed the triggers on his guns simultaneously, taking aim at the pre-Kishin. BOOM! The enemy dodged the soul-bullets, and suddenly, someone grabbed Kid from behind and wrenched his guns from his hands. They promptly where handed to two more guards, and where quickly overtaken as they transformed back into humans, as well. Kid struggled against his captor as Terrien strode over to Maka, pulled her away from Soul, and pushed her up against a wall, arms pinned against it by his hands, the movement of her legs blocked by his. She couldn't escape, despite her struggling, as the pre-Kishin smiled, "This is quite the jackpot. Three demon weapons, a pretty female Technician, and best of all, the son of Shinigami. I'll enjoy consuming your souls. But for a while, I think I'll keep you all for information on Shibusen, and this girl will be fun to play with."

Kid struggled harder against his captor, white-hot rage boiling his blood, "YOU TOUCH HER AND I'LL KILL YOU!!!!" The hand of the guard holding him came up and pressed against his mouth, so he could no longer speak. The clamp was tight, and no matter how much the young shinigami turned his head side-to-side, he couldn't shake the hand off.

Terrien watched Kid, obviously enjoying the teenager's distress, "Oh, you must _hate_ it, Mr. Death, watching me mess with your girl. Hhhmmm?" The pre-Kishin smiled as Kid (he swore to himself right then that he'd personally kill this bastard when he escaped his guard) glared at him. The pre-Kishin smiled and moved Maka's hands so that one of his large ones pinned her arms above her head to the wall. She glared at him, "Lemme go, you fucking bastard!"

Terrien laughed, "I like 'em fiesty. She's a sexy, zesty little number." He reached his free hand up and stroked her cheekbone, and Maka tried to pull her face away from his hand, but he cupped her chin, "Let's see how she tastes, shall we?" Kid made a strangled sound in his throat as the pre-Kishin's lips closed over Maka's. Her eyes squeezed shut and Kid could tell she was trying hard not to make any frightened sounds. The shinigami struggled harder against the guard holding him, but only in vain. SHIT! All he could do was stand here and watch as his precious, sweet darling was _violated_!!!

The pre-Kishin drew back, "Mmmm . . . very sweet. Wonder what she'd sound like in bed?" Kid shouted through the hand (no, anything but that!) muffling his voice and wrenched violently enough to get an arm free. The hand left his mouth and grabbed his arm, and he felt rope being twined around his wrists, "DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH HER!!!! YOU HARM A HAIR ON HER HEAD AND I SWEAR I'LL TORTURE YOU TO DEATH!!!!"

The pre-Kishin threw his head back and laughed, "Okay, enough fun for now. Time to lock you all up." He pulled Maka around, so her hands were pinned behind her back, and pushed her towards the entrance to the room. The guards holding Liz, Patti, and Kid all followed, and one picked up the still unconscious Soul. They were brought into the hallway, and the two meisters where forced into the next room, the weapons where taken farther ahead. Their prison looked as though it had been converted from a normal bedroom into a prison cell--a very homey, nice one. A line of bars ran down the middle, separating the room into two cells. Maka and Kid where each forced into one.

Kid watched in horror as Terrien dragged Maka into her cell and forced her onto the bed. Couldn't this torture end? Kid grimaced (no, no this wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening) as she shouted for him to leave her alone and crawled away from her captor, but he quickly grabbed her and pulled her back. Kid struggled and opened his mouth (just make it stop! Please, make it stop!) to scream, but a fist walloped him first in the eye, then in the jaw, then the top of his head. Then his head was slammed up against the wall, twice. He went light headed as he felt his skin bruise, stars floating in front of him, and the last thing he heard was Maka's angry and frightened screeches before everything went black.

**Assaulted  
**

Maka gazed through the bars at Kid, worried. He had been knocked out for almost fifteen minutes, already. She had managed to fend off the dreadful pre-Kishin without being harmed (a nice, hard kick in the balls always did good damage to a guy), other than a few bruises. She shuddered as she remembered his rough hands all over her body (he had managed to strip her down to the camisole she always wore under her dress-shirt), his disgusting tongue in her mouth. No, when Kid woke up (if he woke up, she was so worried), she couldn't show him how disturbed she was. He'd only worry. A low groan pulled Maka from her thoughts, and the Technician rushed over to the bars, and she stared at where her boyfriend's form was stirring on the ground. He turned over onto his back, and clutched at his head.

"Uuugghhh . . . I have a bad headache."

"Kid! Sweetheart! Are you okay?" That guard must have hit him hard, for the young shinigami to have been knocked out this long.

He slowly sat up, swaying slightly and looking very punch-drunk, "I--I think so." He groaned again and rubbed at his head, then stood up and made his way over to the bars where Maka stood. His eyes went wide (Maka guessed his memories from right before he was unconscious came rushing back at that moment) as his eyes fell on her bruised bare arms, bright, ugly purple against pale, delicate peach, and reached through the bars and grabbed her hand, "Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?"

Maka brought his hand up to her face, and laid his soft, warm palm on her cheek, closing her eyes at his touch, "I'm, fine, Kid. He didn't get very far. I kicked him in the groin before he could do anything to me."

He inhaled and exhaled through his nose (his pissed-off sigh) as he gently pulled her arm towards him and inspected it, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, darling."

Maka shrugged, playing nonchalant, "It's fine. He just mostly was trying to catch me on the bed, and he just kissed me, that's all."

Kid stared at her through the hair that fell across his face, innocently, genuinely, (she had to remind herself to inhale) his huge, beautiful, expressive, honey-yellow eyes peeking brightly through his dark bangs, "Are you sure? Not even the way he kissed you bothered you?" Maka remembered that nasty slippery tongue again, the bitter, stinging taste of acid, and she looked away from Kid as her face heated briefly and the terror showed on her face, "I'm okay."

Kid hadn't missed her facial expression, "Damn! And there was nothing I could do." He sounded terribly (she hated this tone he used with himself) disappointed in himself. She waved her hand in a don't-worry-about-it gesture, "I told you, I'm fine, Kid!"

He grabbed both her shoulders (his eyes were drowning in stress, his mouth twisted in a grim frown) through the bars and bent to her level. He gave her a slight shake as he spoke, "Maka! That pre-Kishin isn't just going to kill you, he wants to rape you, too! Rape!" The word sounded ugly (as though it didn't belong there) on his tongue, and his tortured voice crashed horribly against her ears, bringing tears to her eyes. There was no (she could never lie to Kid for long) stopping it, now. No hiding. Maka allowed the tears to come, and a sob escaped her. Kid pulled her to him (the bars stopped them from a complete, whole embrace) and held her. He pulled his fingers gently through her hair, and slid his hand down her face to cup her chin. He leaned in (his breath made her warm tears cold, drying them on her face) to kiss her. Suddenly he stopped, his face squished between the bars, his lips short of touching hers. He closed his eyes, then pulled back, "What am I doing?"

"What's wrong?" Why had he stopped? A kiss from him would be comforting.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes sad, "You just went through a traumatic sexual experience. I'm not gonna put yo--"

He was stopped mid-sentence (he looked adorably dumb-struck) as Maka placed a finger on his full, shapely lips, silencing him, "You are not a problem. Because I'm willing to kiss you." He just nodded, and Maka pulled on his jacket, pressing her face between the bars, upturned. He kissed her softly, gently, she could tell he was being cautious. She opened her mouth slightly (it would be weird to make out with her cheeks squished together, but hey), inviting his tongue in, but he pulled back, instead.

A sound at each of their doors made the young couple look up. Somebody unlocked and opened the large, steel door to each cell, bearing a tray of food. Maka's eyes widened, and she leaned against Kid, his arm moving to circle around her protectively. Terrien entered Maka's cell (she couldn't believe his sheer nerve) and set the tray of food (teriyaki, the smell made her mouth water and her stomach growled), and leered at her. She pressed her whole body against Kid's through the bars, wanting to recoil as far as possible from her assaulter. Kid's arms wrapped around her, one twining around her waist, the other reached across her chest, his hand fisted on her clavicle, his wrist nestled between her breasts. He tensed as the pre-Kishin approached (Maka knew he wouldn't let her go so easily), his arms holding her tightly. She pressed her back into the bars as their enemy stopped before her, "I see you woke up." He addressed Kid coldly, jealously regarding the way Maka's lover embraced her.

He pulled something from his pocket, a switch-knife. He flipped it open, and smirked as he licked the blade edge with his creepy too-long tongue. Maka gasped as he sliced into Kid's hand (he gave a small cry of pain and surprise), and his warm blood seeped over her collarbone. The pre-Kishin sliced open Kid's other hand at Maka's waist, "C'mon, let go, already!" Kid hissed in pain as the knife (Maka had always admired Kid's dedication, loyalty, stubbornness to protect those he loved) sliced his flesh open, but he would _not_ let go. He yelped in pain as the knife punctured his arm, and finally loosened his grip in an involuntary jerk of pain. Terrien pulled Maka from his grasp (Kid shouted and pounded against the bars, but there was nothing he could do), and she screamed and tried to wrench away, but he grabbed her hair (he pulled hard, and several strands parted with her scalp) and held the knife to her throat, still soaked in Kid's bright red blood. His breath was minty (how surprising for someone who tasted so vile) as he breathed in her ear, "Hey, baby. I think red suits you." He pressed the knife enough to draw a few droplets of blood, running hot down her neck. She closed her eyes and shuddered (she concentrated only on Kid's velvety voice, broken and jagged, as he shouted her name) as he licked the red bodily fluid off her neck; his slick tongue made her skin crawl.

Terrien pulled Maka over to the wall, still holding the knife to her throat, and pressed her against it. His knee slid between her legs, and his other hand held her hands, pinned to the wall. He pressed his body against hers, "You feel very good." His cold lips pressed against hers, (she was still trying hard to focus on Kid's horrible shouts, to shut all this horror out) and his tongue reminded her of a worm as it slid between her teeth. Tears filled her eyes, and she began to cry as his left hand released her wrists (he had her pinned with his body, and he'd rip her throat open of she tried anything, anyway) and dug under her shirt. She clawed at his hand, trying to get it out, GET IT OUT!!! His hand worked over her chest, and she cried in earnest as she felt her skin bruise. Finally, he gave her breast one last squeeze, and backed away, and dropped the knife. He grinned evilly, and she shuddered.

He licked the knife again, tasting hers and Kid's blood, "Enjoy dinner." He exited.

Maka crossed her arms over her chest and sobbed, and ran back to where Kid stood, he looked raving angry (tears of rage poured down his face, and he looked dreadfully traumatized), but his eyes softened as she approached, and he held out his arms. She collapsed against his chest, heaving sobs shaking her whole body, and Kid wrapped her in his arms, warmth, safety, love enveloping her. She quivered violently in terror as Kid held her (she had never been so scared in her life), and he squeezed her gently. His voice issued into her ear, whisper-soft and raspy, shaking from his own emotions, "It's okay! I'm here! I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's all my fault."

The last comment made Maka look up (her lost, drowning terror quickly turned to poisonous, hot anger) and glare at him, "It is NOT your fault! It never is, and never will be your fault, you idiot!"

He looked surprised at her comment, "But I just stood there and watched you get--get--" His fathomed yellow eyes blazed spectacularly (Maka made a mental note to never enrage Kid) in anger and his knuckles cracked as he dug his nails into his palms.

Maka took his face in her hands, made him look her straight in the eyes, so he would not question her, "There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With you! Nothing! I _love_ you, Death the Kid! You have _never ever_ wronged me, and you never will! Okay?! SO STOP BEATING YOURSELF UP!"

Kid flinched as she shouted at him, and smiled weakly, "Okay." He admitted. He hugged her close again, kissed her, "You okay?" Maka nodded, "Yeah. I will be. It's not like you've never touched my breasts before. So it wasn't anything new. Just that it's _him._" She shuddered, then relaxed as Kid kissed her on top of the head. Her stomach suddenly growled loudly, "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

Kid chuckled, but it sounded a little strained, "Okay!"

**Drugged**

The dinner was fairly good, not the luxury Kid was used to, but he could live with it. Teriyaki had never been his favorite, anyway. Maka seemed to be okay, though he was worried that she was hiding (she _hated_ it when he worried about her, he knew) her true feelings from him, and he was also concerned about the further bruising (the injuries on her arms and thighs looked dreadful, huge hand marks where Terrien had grabbed her arms, and attempted to spread her legs apart) under her clothing he couldn't see. He made a mental note to himself to ask her how bad it was. He wouldn't ask to see, though (didn't want to traumatize his poor darling any further), even though he had seen her stripped nude to the torso before. She had a lovely figure, supple, toned, willowy, she also had small, soft, round breasts. But after going through that hell, he would understand if she might be hesitant to expose her body to him. It enraged him (his teeth ground together and his hands clenched into fists) that her body, which he knew she was preserving for him, (she would give herself fully to him only when she was ready) was being so violated.

He watched his girl carefully as she toyed with a corner of her blanket. They had each moved the mattresses off their beds in their cells (it had been Kid's idea), and dragged them over, covers and all, and pushed them against the bars. They didn't want to be lonely through the night. So the two teenagers sat on the mattresses, and talked. Maka looked up at him, her huge green eyes captivating, "So, we should come up with a plan to escape."

Kid nodded, "Yeah. Any ideas?"

"Nope. Gimme a second, I'm gonna see if I can contact Soul." She closed her eyes, her smooth forehead wrinkling in concentration. Kid waited patiently, (Soul's and Maka's conversations, particularly the soul resonance ones, could take a while) admiring how cute she looked while focusing on something. Her eyes flashed open again, and she suddenly hunched over and grabbed at her head, "Uuuhhnnn! What the hell?!" The young shinigami reached out and placed a hand on her head, "What's wrong?" Maka massaged her temples and groaned again. Her hands looked shaky, for some reason, "I couldn't do it! I tried to use my soul perception, and I suddenly got this nasty headache! I think it's a migraine, I need to lay down." She did so, and at the same time, Kid (this was very strange) was overtaken by a wave of nausea. Something wanted to come up! Kid shoved a hand to his mouth (he had only thrown up a few times in his life), and dashed into his cell bathroom.

He emptied his dinner into the toilet, then sat back against the wall. His hands where shaking badly, for some reason. And his skin was flushed and hot and sweaty, dampening his hair--he felt like he had a fever. It was the food. There must have been something in it to make them sick! And mess with Maka's soul perception. But it couldn't be a chemical (shinigami were resistant to chemicals, thus the reason Kid took no drugs for his OCD), if it was affecting him. He closed his eyes and tried his own perception (he tried searching for Liz and Patti, he hoped they were okay), but this only brought on more nausea, and the dry heaves. Guess he had nothing more to puke up. He finished gagging and pulled off his jacket (his hands were shaking like crazy, it seemed that whatever this was, it affected his motor skills, too) and unbuttoned his dress shirt a little, rolled up his sleeves, and fanned himself with his quivering hands. He was so _hot_. He stood up slowly (his legs felt like jelly) and made his way slowly and swayingly back to Maka.

She looked up at him through the bars (he hated being separated from his darling by such a thin barrier) from where she lay down, "Are you okay? I heard you vomit."

He shook his head and sat down beside her, "That pre-Kishin gave us something, to suppress our soul perception and our other powers."

"What? A drug? But it made you sick, there's no drugs that would do anything to you."

"Because it's a drug mixed with something else. A Kishin egg fragment."

Her pretty green eyes widened and she clutched at her throat, "Bu--but Kishin eggs are lethal to meisters!"

He leaned towards her, pressing his hot face between the cool bars, "Do I feel feverish to you?" He continued as she pressed her hand to his forehead, "Yes, it's true Kishin eggs are like arsenic to us Technicians, which is why we don't consume them. But it acts like a chemical poison on our bodies, so when given in small amounts, it just suppresses our powers by throwing off our soul wavelength balance, and in turn, our body chemistry. Which is why both of of us feel like crap right now."

"But I just have a headache, I didn't throw up like you. But we both have the tremors. And you _do_ have a fever, I think."

"I think it's affected me worse 'cause I'm a shinigami. We're the natural antithesis of pre-Kishin, we're repelled from them by instinct. So it has a worse toll on me. It's basically like getting the flu, only worse."

She stroked his damp hair, and pushed his bangs (her eyes were soft and concerned, filled with love for him) back to feel his clammy forehead once again, "That's bad. Will this kill us?"

"Yes, over time it will. But I don't plan to stay here for more than a couple more days. I won't eat, I'll just live on water. The pitcher he gave me isn't tainted."

"Mine isn't either. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He nodded, "I'll be fine, Maka. This way I'll be able to contact the weapons. Although, they've probably been drugged, too. Which means their soul reception might be messed up. Hopefully, one of them is smart enough to not eat, too."

Maka stared anxiously at her hand; she had the same tremors Kid did, "Will I be okay, if I continue to eat?"

The young god shakily took her hand, and their clasped hands shook like leaves, "You should be. It'll make you sick, and you and Soul won't be able to fight for a while after this, but you need the nourishment. I'll be fine, I'm a shinigami. I don't need to eat as much as a mortal does." He stood up and grabbed the water pitcher off his table (his hands shook violently, and the water sloshed around), and poured himself a glass, "I need to purge my system of the Kishin egg fragment. This should work since it's only a small amount. Make sure you drink lots of water, too, it'll dilute the drug and the egg piece. The more concentrated it is, the more it'll effect you powers. Maybe it'll help you recover some degree of you perception."

Maka nodded and grabbed her pitcher and glass too, which she had sitting beside her mattress, "Alright."

Kid nodded and sipped his glass. He truly hoped everything would be okay.

**Escape Plan**

Maka woke up the next morning to find that her headache had dissipated, though her entire body still ached from the bruises inflicted by Terrien. Looks like Kid's idea of diluting the poisonous effects of the Kishin egg and whatever chemical drug with water had worked. Kid was still asleep beside her (he was so beautiful when he slept, like a dark angel, ethereal and immortal, _her_ shinigami), his body leaning against the bars. His black, soft, feathery hair (Maka had always thought his hair was unusually fine and floaty for being brunette) splashed across the pillow, night spun into fibers, splashing over snow. With exception, of course, of his three white sanzu lines, standing starkly against the black (the white relief made her think of cream poured over raven's wings), marking him a shinigami. His soft, velvety eyes lashes (they always made her think of soft black things like spiders and black butterfly wings) rested on his alabaster cheeks. His eyelashes where _so_ long. It was one of her favorite features about him. She reached through the bars and gently stroked his flawless pale skin (he was so fair, were it not for his black hair and the rise and fall of his chest, he could have passed for a plaster statue, especially in his stillness), it was softer than silk, she loved his skin. Her boyfriend was so lovely. He stirred under her hand, and slowly his eyes opened, revealing his huge, exotic, slanted, golden eyes.

He smiled up at her, "Good morning, darling! Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah. I feel a lot better, too. How about you?"

He sat up and pressed his face between the bars for a kiss, "Yeah. I am." Maka nodded and kissed him, then sighed worriedly, "What if he comes back? I--I can't--" She couldn't imagine (she was still trying to block the memories of the previous night, those rough hands, squeezing her chest, trying to splay her legs) what would happen next. Rape. She shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest, and squeezed her legs together. Kid gently laid his hand on her face (Kid was truly, truly a dear blessing), and she leaned into his warm palm, "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." His eyes where hard and determined, and his immovable resolve was her sweet succor. She was _so_ lucky to have a guy like him. His eyes relaxed and his gaze shifted to a spot beside her mattress, "Look." Maka turned to find a change of clothes waiting for her, "Oh, yeah. I guard came in earlier and gave me those. You got some, too." He turned to look, and Maka began (fresh clothes will be nice, she felt ucky, and the bathroom didn't have a shower) to undress. Kid turned back as he grabbed his clothes, and stared as she pulled off her top, "Are you okay with this? I mean, you don't want some privacy after . . ." She shook her head, and Kid narrowed his eyes as he saw the huge bruises on her abdomen and chest. She pulled off her bra, and Kid gasped. Her breasts where completely blue and yellow. She cringed as she saw the look of pain on her lover's face, "It's okay. It doesn't hurt that bad. Just as long as I don't get bumped." He reached out and gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder, pulled her closer to better inspect the abrasions.

"_What_ did he do to you?"

Maka just shrugged (she was trying her best to be casual), "You saw."

He gently laid a hand on her right breast, "This doesn't hurt, does it? Or make you . . . uncomfortable?"

She shook her head, "No. Just don't squeeze, that _would_ hurt. And of course I'm comfortable with this! We're boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers, our bodies are each other's to enjoy, right? Not fully, yet, of course."

He nodded, "I know. Only when you're ready."He dropped his hand, "I have an idea. One second." He closed his eyes, and Maka could tell he was checking his soul perception. He smiled, "I'm talking to Liz." He whispered, and Maka gasped happily. He was silent for a few more minutes, Maka just sitting there topless (the situation was so funny she almost laughed, but she didn't want to disrupt his focus) as he sat there talking to his weapon. He finally opened his eyes, "I know where they are, and I have a plan, they helped me come up with it. When they come for breakfast, I'm sure Terrien will serve you. And he always tries to--to--" He couldn't say it, so he continued, "Anyway, because he does that, he always leaves the door open. My guard does the same. I say we take 'em out, take their keys, and find our weapons, rescue them, and get the hell out of here."

Maka nodded and smiled, "Sounds like a plan to me!" She pulled on the new undergarment and top, then strode into the bathroom to change from her skirt (she hoped that perverted pre-Kishin hadn't installed hidden cameras anywhere) into the shorts she had been provided. She wasn't ready to expose _that_ much of herself to Kid, yet. She loved him deeply and passionately, but sex could wait. He was satisfied enough as it was, now, anyway. She let her hair down (these pigtails were uncomfortable to sleep in), slipped the hair ties onto her wrist, and brushed her hair with the brush she had found on the sink.

She came back out to find Kid fully changed. It looked good on him, a red t-shirt (and red was absolutely, positively _stunning_ with his coloring, it made his porcelain skin stand out delicately) and a black hoodie, with khakis. He always look ten times hotter dressed casually. Maka had changed into a lacy, cleavage-complimentary tanktop (it reminded her painfully of lingerie) and very short denim shorts. She felt like a slut (she was sure Terrien was behind it, of course), but Kid liked it, because his eyes widened as she approached, and a lustful smile Maka liked appeared on his face as his eyes roved happily over her body. He wolf-whistled, "You look _hot_!" Maka laughed. Kid didn't typically act that way, but sexual desire had an amazing, intoxicating effect (as she soon discovered recently after she began dating Kid) on the male mind.

Maka was sitting down beside him, reaching her hand through the bars to take his hand, when each of their cell doors opened. Breakfast. And Terrien was leering happily over Maka's tray. Go time. She stood up (behind her, Kid moved away, towards his guard) and braced herself to fight back. Her lover depended on her (besides, Kid was helpless to help her, but she could defend herself) for this plan to work. This monster wasn't going to hurt her, not this time. The pre-Kishin set the tray down, his eyes slithering over her, "I knew this would look smokin' hot on you." Behind her, she heard the yelp of the guard as Kid knocked him out. Either Terrien didn't notice or care, because his creepy smile and his greedy eyes where focused only on her, as he approached his prey, "I'll kill your boyfriend later for doing that. I particularly like that guy." Maka snorted, _as if_ he were capable of liking _anyone_. Nasty piece of work, this monster was.

She gasped as he suddenly was in front of her and slammed her against the bars, choking her. His hand shoved under her top, and he tore at her clothes, feeling her breasts, his other hand (no, no she was doomed now!) began undoing the button on her jean shorts. She struggled and gasped for air, clawing at his hands. An alabaster fist suddenly collided with the side of Terrien's head, and he was on the ground. Kid stood over him, the full fury (Maka stared in awe at the ethereal being before her, frightening, powerful, the Angel of Death) of his storming temper unleashed. He kicked the pre-Kishin as hard as he could in the ribs (Maka was sure she heard something crack), "What have I told you about touching my darling?" His voice was dangerously soft (Maka shuddered, it chilled her to the bone), hissing soft and sibilant, like a snake's. Terrien grunted, but was silent. Kid had wrenched the switchblade from his hand, and he grabbed the pre-Kishin and pressed the knife to his throat. The death god hissed dangerously into his victim's ear, "Answer me. WHAT DID I SAY?!"

The pre-Kishin flinched, and decided to gamble (huge, big GINORMOUS mistake, to mess with a pissed-off shinigami) with Kid's now-unstable temper. A slow, manic smile spread across his face, "Sa--said I could have her whenever I want." Kid roared, and dug the knife into the pre-Kishin's cheek, slicing it open, "ANSWER ME CORRECTLY OR I'LL CUT OUT YOU TONGUE!!!!" Maka was sure the enraged god intended to make this death slow and painful. But they needed to find their weapons, this was no time to be caught up in personal vendettas! They would come back for this pre-Kishin later, or have someone else take it. Preferably someone well-seasoned, and not a young girl like her. Or, she had a better idea.

Maka walked over and placed a hand on Kid's shoulder, "We'll take him prisoner! Then you can torture him as much as you like." She grinned evilly, and the pre-Kishin recoiled, "And I think I have a score to settle with him, too."

Kid slashed Terrien's arm open, watching the blood pulse out, "Fine. Get something to tie him up with." Maka grabbed her red, plaid schoolgirl skirt (and man, Kid was soooo going to owe her for this) and tore it into strips. She bound her enemy's hands behind his back, making sure the bonds were tight. Kid dragged the knife across the pre-Kishin's back, opening another cut across the shoulder blades (shinigami anger was a horrifying thing), probably dizzy off of blood lust. Kid was gonna kill him before they got him to their weapons, so she took the knife from his hands, "He could have information."

Kid seethed at her, but didn't say anything. Maka didn't think she had ever seen him so mad. He walked over to the pre-Kishin, and kicked him again in the ribs, "Get up, scum." Terrien slowly rose, and spat in Kid's face. The shinigami roared and struck his enemy across the face, causing Terrien's pale lips to bleed. Kid shoved him in the direction of the cell door, "MOVE!" Maka followed the furious shinigami and his rather unfortunate (but all too deserving) prisoner, thoroughly enjoying witnessing her boyfriend beat the living shit out of her would-be rapist. Ah, revenge was sweet.

She smiled happily as they stopped outside another cell. Kid grabbed the keys he had obtained from his guard, and tossed them to Maka, "They're in three separate cells. Gimme the knife." Maka hesitated (Kid seemed to exercising _very little_ self-restraint at the moment), but handed it to him. The shinigami took it, smiled in dark relish, and scraped it across his victim's throat, just enough to draw blood, but not to kill. Maka took the keys, found the master, and unlocked the first door. Soul leaped up from where he was sitting on the bed, and ran over and hugged her, smiling, "Oi! I was wondering when you'd get here!" They exited his cell, and her partner stopped and stared (half in shock, half in amusement) at the scene of torturer and victim that was Terrien and Death the Kid, "Uuuummm . . . Maka? Is Kid okay?" Kid looked up and grinned manically (he was enjoying this a little _too_ much), and opened another cut, "Oooh, I'm juuuuust fine. Just a little revenge."He plunged the knife into Terrien's arm evoking a loud yelp from the poor pre-Kishin.

Maka shook her head (she once again reminded herself to _never_ _ever _piss off Kid), and released the Thompson sisters. Kid dropped the knife and held out his hands, "Liz, Patti. Transform." The two weapons flew into his hands, and he held each to Terrien's head, ready to blow out his brains. Maka took Soul's hand, he transformed, and she walked over, spinning her scythe, "Hey, I wanna torture him, too!" Kid sighed, looking disappointed, "I s'pose you should get a chance. He did try to rape you." But he didn't remove Liz and Patti from the pre-Kishin's temples. Soul's image appeared in the scythe blade, "WHAT?! I'M GONNA KILL THIS BASTARD!!" Maka dragged Soul's blade over Terrien's scalp, drawing more blood, "This is fun! That good enough for you, Soul?"

Terrien grinned up at her, "You think, sexy?" Suddenly, he crackled with that same black electricity that had incapacitated Soul before. The two meisters released their weapons, as pain coursed through their hands. Soul transformed into a human, his nose and mouth bleeding again, but the Thompsons were fine, and held fast as Kid picked them up again. The pre-Kishin was on his feet, bonds broken, picking up his knife, and he had Maka as a hostage, knife pressed to her throat.

"NOBODY MOVE OR I KILL HER!"

Oh, how the tides of battle turn.

**Choice**

Kid stared in shock. Terrien had grabbed Maka so fast (Kid couldn't have blinked in that time), he wasn't quite sure how she had gotten there. Kid bent towards Soul (this power the Kishin had seemed similar to Stein's Soul Purge, only especially designed for weapons), inspected him. The demon weapon was still conscious, though he looked very light-headed. Kid wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't shoot, the monster would use his love as a human target. If Kid moved closer to engage in close combat, he would slice her neck open.

"Oi, Shinigami!" Terrien's voice grated against Kid's ears, "I have a choice for you to make."

Kid looked up, "What could you possibly want me to do, demon?"

Terrien grinned evilly and nodded towards Soul, "See your friend there? Know what I want you to do?"

"What?" Kid asked apprehensively.

The pre-Kishin's smile widened, dark and insane. He whispered the words.

"Kill him."

Kid's eyes widened in shock (he did not just hear what he think he heard), and his heart plunged into his stomach, "What?"

"Kill him. Now." He gave Maka a little shake, "Or your 'darling' here dies."

Kid stared at Soul, who had frozen (eyes wide and scared, he looked up at Kid, shaking his head) at Terrien's words. What a monster this pre-Kishin was. Kid's mouth and throat (they had gone so dry, he almost gagged from it) felt as though they were coated in cotton. His breath seemed to stop (or had it quickened?) in his lungs. He stared at Soul, one of his best friends in the whole world. The white-haired boy stared back, eyes still wide and shocked, pleading for mercy, for a way for Kid to think a way out of this impossible choice. Kid's skin became slicked in sweat, his palms slippery against his guns.

He flinched as the pre-Kishin barked, "Do it! Right now, or she dies!" Kid's hand began to shake violently (he couldn't believe this, why was he doing this?) as he raised it, the gun clicking with the tremors in his hand. Soul's eyes widened and he tried to back away, but was too weak to move very far.

His lover or his best friend. He chose.

Kid took a step forward. And another. He brought the gun up, and pressed it into his best friend's jugular vain. His _best friend_.

Time seemed to stop.

"What are you waiting for! C'mon, Mr. Death, SHOW ME HOW TOUGH YOU ARE!!!" The voice ripped at Kid's ears, nothing but jagged knives and horrific, twisted morality there.

The cock-pull dug into his thumb (sharp, cold metal, poking into his soft flesh) as he pressed into it.

The click was

deafening as he

pulled it

back,

it was the only

thing he heard.

Kid had always

tried to

make choices

for others.

He always

had put the

people he

loved

first.

So why was

he doing this?

WHY?

"DO IT NOW!!!"

He had

no choice.

He would

hope

for the best.

Kid squeezed his

eyes shut

so he couldn't

see Soul.

He

pulled

the

trigger.

BOOM!!

**A/N: **Next one will be a continuation of the last SoKa.

Please review.


	6. The Gift: Confessions of a Cutter: SoKa

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

_The Gift_ lyrics copyright (c) Seether.

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

_The Gift_ lyrics copyright (c) Seether. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies do not in any way own these lyrics

_All That I'm Living For_ lyrics copyright (c) 2006 Evanescence. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies do not in any way own these lyrics

* * *

**Soul's Confessions #1 - Relief**

"Hold me now  
I need . . . . . . . . . . . . to feel relief  
Like I never  
wanted anything."

Sometimes, Soul  
wished Maka  
would just . . . . . . . . hold him,

tell him  
everything would  
be okay.  
He wished  
he could give her  
something . . . . . . . like sweet succor.

He knew his girl  
was damaged  
from his  
addiction,  
his need for . . . . . . . . . the knife's call

that corrupted  
what little  
purity he still  
retained. Hell had . . . . . . . . . made his heart, his mind

paint a canvas of . . . . . . . . . . his worst nightmares.  
Particularly when she  
found him  
at it again.  
You should have  
heard  
her . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . scream.

**Diagnosis**

Post-traumatic disorder. Clinical depression. A cutter. A list of problems. All the things (and he had always been drawn to the dark, the forbidden) that were wrong with Soul. It made Maka cringe, as she watched Stein ask her partner questions, poking and prodding at his psyche, examining the damage Soul had wrought on his arms. The teenager looked away, withdrawn and surly, as Stein asked him yet another question.

"Do you ever feel like you don't want to live? Suicidal?"

The young weapon glowered up through (his red eyes looked so tired, just tired, of everything) his fair bangs, "No. I don't want to die."

"No thoughts of killing yourself, no attempts or considerations?" Stein seemed to be asking more out of personal concern for his friend than any medical curiosity, but the question made Maka wince. Soul had agreed to let her sit in on this examination (she wanted to be there for him), painful as it may be.

The young weapon shook his head, lifting his cut-riddled arm to run a hand through silvery-white hair, "No. I've never thought about that."

Stein nodded, his eyes soft and sympathetic as he regarded his student and--now--patient, "Okay. Glad to know." He paused and took a drag on his cigarette, then continued, "It seems your post-traumatic disorder you're suffering from was caused by a mission to kill a witch you and Maka went on about a month and a half ago, according to the recurring nightmares you have. Would you say you agree that this is true?" Soul glanced at Maka, sitting next to him, and nodded. Stein sighed, then arose from his seat, "Alright, Soul. Let me see some things, and I'll get some medicines together for you."

Soul narrowed his eyes, "Medicine? I don't want anything. I don't need it."

For what felt like the millionth time that week, tears filled Maka's eyes (these days, weepiness clung to her, like a disease), and she gently took her lover's hand, "Please, Soul. Try it for a week, for me. It will help you."

Her boyfriend's eyes softened (he could never say no to Maka), and he wiped away Maka's tears, "Alright. I'll try it for a week."

Stein nodded, "How about two? It will be a more effective trial."

"Fine."

Their teacher and friend got up and entered the small Shibusen pharmacy, to choose Soul's medication. Soul sighed and laid his head on Maka's shoulder. She reached up and gently began to stroke his hair. He closed his eyes (Maka knew she was a huge comfort to him) and took her free hand, brought it to his lips. She was so exhausted. It had been a fight all week to get him to receive (even though both students trusted Stein as their doctor explicitly) at least a diagnosis on his condition. After she had seen his forearms, riddled with cuts (she had never been so devastated in her life), she had realized that his recent nightmares and subsequent sadness was a severe problem, more severe than she could've imagined. She had cried (she wondered if other people had nights that seemed to grow into eternity, to last forever, an existence of tears) for a long time afterward. Even after Soul came in and apologized. Kissed away her tears. Told her he loved her. As though he could fix everything, just by saying so. She wished he could.

Stein came back in, holding two bottles of pills, and sat down, "Okay. The first thing I'm giving you is sleeping pills, so that you'll get to sleep at night, and quit having nightmares and fitful sleep patterns. The thing you need the most, I think, is a full night's sleep."

Soul nodded and gave a small, wan smile (it was more like a cringe, Maka thought) as he took the first bottle, "This'll be a relief."

Stein held up the second bottle and continued, "Normally, someone with your degree of depression would be administered something like Prozac. However, I am giving you a more powerful antidepressant, lithium. This is be--"

"Wait a minute," Soul interjected, "isn't lithium used in batteries?"

Stein closed his eyes (as though in empathy) and nodded, "Yes. It's also used in small amounts to treat severe depression and bipolar disorder. One of its side effects is to suppress weapon power. This way, you can no longer hurt yourself."

Soul unconsciously (the one that was a blade) grabbed his right arm, "Oh. So we won't be able to fight!"

"No, and I'm sorry. I warn you, it's harsh stuff. It will either give you nausea and vomiting, or indigestion and the runs. It will also make you feel very thirsty, you'll gain weight, about three pounds, and give you the tremors. The side effects will reduce as your body adjusts, but first starting will be rough."

Soul shrugged, "Well, I feel like shit right now. Won't make much difference."

Stein handed Soul the lithium pills, then tossed a small tub to Maka, "This is a salve to heal Soul's cuts and reduce scarring. I want you, Maka, to apply it to his arms twice a day, morning and evening. I want only you to do this for him, Maka. Physical contact is a way to connect. Talk to him. Try to be there for your partner. I know you will be. This is vital not just for your partnership, but also for your friendship and romantic relationship."

Maka stared at the tub in her hands, "Yes, Dr. Stein." Relationship building. She hoped this brought herself and Soul (because right now they were sitting next to each other, but it felt as though there were miles and miles between them) closer than they had been, lately. The emotional strain wearing on both of them was beginning to manifest itself physically. Maka had almost completely (and her thin frame already had little fat to spare, she was all muscle) lost her appetite, she barely ate anything, anymore. Her eyes had dark circles under them, because she wasn't sleeping, because she cried herself to sleep now, as Soul held her, and whispered reassurances he couldn't fulfill. Soul was opposite Maka in appetite, he ate everything (Maka guessed it used a lot of energy, being sad), snacked constantly, couldn't seem to get enough to fill himself. But he also had dark circles under his eyes. He avoided sleeping if he could help it (he told Maka he only saw her die on the inside of his eyelids), pulling an all-nighter almost every night, and nodding off in class, during the day. Only to be awakened by Maka, gently scolded for not paying attention. She had begun taking double notes (he couldn't help his sleepiness), a set for him, a set for her. She helped him with the homework, too, his brain seemed so exhausted, it took effort just to focus for a few minutes.

"Oi, Maka."

Soul's light baritone pulled her from her thoughts, "Eh . . . What?"

"Stein was talking to you. Pay attention."

She dropped the salve in her bag and gave Stein her undivided attention, "Yes?"

"You need to take precautions, so your partner no longer has access to sharp objects. We're cutting him off from cutting." Maka nodded. She knew Soul still did it, even after she discovered his habit. She

had caught him (to her horror) once or twice in the bathroom that week, blood pouring from his arm, watching him use his own abilities to open his skin, again and again. It disturbed her deeply (the image was burned into her mind, like a tick attached, sucking away her blood) seeing the boy she loved like that. She found herself dreaming about it at night, awakening in fright to find Soul laying next to her, either struggling to stay awake, or sleeping fitfully.

She was again pulled from her introspection as Stein handed her a lock and a key with a chain around it, "This is to lock up the kitchen knives, and any other sharp objects he may try to use. Search through your apartment, get rid of or hide anything and everything with a sharp edge. He'll be resourceful, use anything, even staples, paperclips, safety pins, and the obvious things would be stuff like needles, scissors, razor blades. Keep the key with you always, don't let Soul have it. Hide it when you sleep."

Maka nodded, and Soul looked ornery, rolling his eyes. Stein leaned forward, now, looking serious, "Pay attention, guys. All this treatment is expensive, and I'm sad to say that Shibusen, for once, is unable to pay for it. Therefore, I have contacted Soul's fami--"

"What?! Why'd you call them, for?!" Soul looked pissed and highly animated, for the first time in a while.

"I'm sorry, but we needed a way to pay for this. And _I am not _letting you go without treatment, Soul, not as your doctor and teacher, and not as your friend." Soul leaned back and remained silent, but the scowl didn't disappear from his face. His body was tense, wary, against Maka's. She put her arm around him (his wavelength was driving her crazy, it had been all over the place, lately), and rubbed his shoulder, trying to calm him. His muscles gradually relaxed, his eyes stopped blazing and once again turned empty.

"Before the Evans family began paying for this, your father wanted to see you." Soul snorted, and rolled his eyes.

Stein continued, "So, he's here. Try not to show too much animosity, he's paying for you medicine. And if you want, therapy sessions." Soul shook his head, he didn't want therapy.

The teacher arose from his chair, "Alright. I'll go get him, then."

And he walked out to get Mr. Evans.

**Mr. Evans**

Soul sighed (this was gonna be fun) and flopped back onto the couch, pulled on his hoodie. Didn't want father staring at his cuts. Maka peered (she looked so beautiful at that moment, even through the dark circles) at his face, concerned. Soul just shook his head, it wasn't worth asking or commenting. Maka's beautiful green eyes shot him an "I'm-worried-you'll-blow-this" look (he had always loved how they could have a whole conversation without talking), and she took his large hand in her small, rough, calloused ones. He again brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them. He was thanking her (though he had been against it at first) for her presence, here. She would give him strength as his father confronted him. The only motive Father could possibly have for seeing Soul was to see how badly (and Soul was sure Mr. Evans would be dripping with relish and satisfaction) his youngest son had messed up.

The young weapon-musician had grown up being measured not by his talent or potential, but by the number of mistakes he did--or didn't--make, in his father's book. According to his father, Soul's elder brother, Wes, had never made any mistakes, made all the right choices. Graduating their musical academy at the age of fifteen--a year younger than Soul was right now, taking the musical world by storm with the ingenious sound of his violin, becoming engaged (this was recent news) to a world-famous record producer, and signing onto the "biggest classical musical deal of the decade," according to his father's cold, rare letters, which notified Soul of recent events in the Evans family.

Soul, on the other hand, was a mistake to begin with. His parents didn't want a second son, but one slip-up on the birth control, and there was nothing they could do. Soul's mother embraced him (she had always affectionately called him her "surprise baby boy") fully and lovingly. His father was dissatisfied, normal human beings shouldn't have such unnatural coloring, red eyes and white hair, or be drawn to and fascinated by insanity, darkness, horror. Soul had made all the wrong choices, welcoming his "monstrous" weapon abilities, enrolling in Shibusen, beginning to date a very unladylike (this thought always made him smirk) girl, with no musical connection or talent whatsoever. Except dance. Oh, if only Father (nothing had ever so fully captivated Soul) could see Maka dance! Delicate and flowing, like milk poured into water, iridescent swirls of movement. Exquisite. Enraptured.

Soul was pulled from his thoughts as the door opened, and Stein led in his father. He hadn't changed much, maybe a few more gray hairs, wrinkles. Same ashy blonde hair, same bright, startling blue eyes, same tan skin tone Soul had inherited. Charles Evans' youngest son had also inherited his father's same shaped eyes, they shared a nose, both had round, soft facial structure. Genetics. It was a powerful thing. Soul snorted at the thought, then leaned forward as his father approached. The man stopped before him, looking down his nose at the two teens on the couch, "Hello, Soul-kun."

"Oto-san." Soul glared back just as hard, garnet and sapphire collided, clacking, crackling against each other (Soul wondered if he was the only one who heard it, but it was so loud), both ablaze with that famous Evans intensity. Soul could see his Technician watching them in his peripheral vision. He shattered the precious stones sparking between himself and his father, took her hand, kissed again the soft skin of her knuckles.

Mr. Evans regarded the obvious intimacy between the two partners with apparent disapproval, "Your doctor contacted me. Apparently you need some sort of special treatment?"

Soul threw his arm around Maka (anything to annoy his dad), and ran his deft fingers through her fine dun-colored hair, "Yeah."

"And what exactly for? Dr. Franken Stein only said you were suffering from mental instability."

Stein walked behind him, puffed out some smoke with his comment, "I said mental insecurity. Soul's mind is perfectly stable, if a little discouraged."

"You specified that my son is suffering from . . . some sort of . . . mental _disease_." Soul tried hard not to roll his eyes and sigh at the distasteful way Father said "my son" and "disease."

"Disorder." Stein corrected, "Post-traumatic disorder is causing him to have horrible nightmares, and subsequently, depression. Show him your arms, Soul." Soul hesitated, then (it was more out of respect for his teacher than anything else) he slowly pulled off his green hoodie, revealing his cuts.

His father's eyes widened, and he backed away several steps, "What is this?"

Stein took another drag on his cig, blew the smoke out with his answer, "A severe problem. Self-mutilation, in which the victim causes him or herself pain by cutting, burning, or berating themselves. Soul's preferred method is cutting, as is obvious. The motive for self-mutilation can be different for every patient." And Stein immediately dropped into Sensei mode, "He'll tell you the cutting mentality much better than I will. Explain, Soul." He said it as though they were in class, going over the review for the next weapon biology test or something.

Soul was not good at this. All well, he would try, for Stein, "I was in a lot of pain before, from my nightmares. So--I--I think my mind was trying to set up a defense. But, I eventually stopped feeling anything. I'm numb. So I cut, because physical sensations are all I can feel, and pain is one of the most vivid." Maka squeezed his hand in a silent "good job."

His father looked deeply disturbed, "I see. And I'm paying for this to be treated?"

Stein opened his mouth to answer, but it was Maka's voice that spoke, "Yes, he is. Dr. Stein is putting him on sleeping aids, to stop the nightmares, and he's also being treated with lithium, because it's an antidepressant that blocks weapon powers, so he can't hurt himself. And he'll feel better, hopefully."

Mr. Evans turned to coldly regard the small girl, and Soul cuddled her close to him (no way Father was doing anything to his Maka), his cheek pressing gently against hers. His father spoke, "And what qualifies you, girl, to explain that?"

"Maka is top of the class in their year. Very smart girl." Stein smiled at her as he mashed his finished cig into an ashtray, sitting back down in his chair, "And she is also Soul's meister and girlfriend, she is more than qualified to explain his medicine. She knows him very, _very_ well."

The teenage girl smiled and kissed Soul on the cheek, "Yeah. He's my best friend. There's no one else I would rather spend my day with."

Soul closed his eyes (this was why he loved her), this flat-chested bookworm was truly his blessing, and his guardian angel. He opened them again as his father's voice (it was so freakishly like his own) fell against his ears once again, "So, I'm funding treatments to help straighten out Soul-kun, because he's a screw up?" Soul's hands curled into fists, Maka gasped in offended shock, and Stein stood up again, this time in an aggressive stance. The teacher lit up another cigarette, took a drag, blew the smoke in the offender's face. His voice was ominous and stern as he explained, "Your son did not _screw up._ Nobody in Soul's position has screwed up. They are simply victims of circumstance, they did not intend to be in such an ugly place. Soul is suffering from severe post-traumatic disorder, as a result of a mission he and Maka went on that had gone dreadfully wrong. Did you ever think to ask what he nightmares about? Or what a weapon and meister go through, what their roles are to each other?"

Mr. Evans shook his head (he seemed intimidated by Stein's vehement defense of his patient) and turned stiffly to Soul, "Well, Soul-kun? What are your nightmares about?"

Soul shot a glare (he was _sooo_ paying for this later) at Stein, then sighed, and rubbed his face in his hands. This would be hard. Maka rubbed his hand (her palms were always warm and rough, he loved them) and sent him her wavelength, giving him strength. He looked up and explained, "That mission we had, about a month ago, it was to battle a witch, a very dangerous enemy. Many Technicians have died or almost died battling against them. Maka was one of those who almost died. Right in front of me." He paused, his eyes no longer seeing, the vision of Maka bleeding to death playing over and over in his mind, "I watched her abdomen get torn open with magic. I stayed with her, we both were covered in all her blood. Then she fell unconscious, and her heart and lungs stopped. I thought she was dead. The love of my life, my other half. Dead." He fell silent, the tortured boy unable to continue. The whole room was silent (depression permeated it, too, like a poisonous gas), and the Universe seemed to stop in time, space, existence, just to give everyone time to absorb Soul's confession. The heavy mud of silence was cut by the cold, rapidly frosting voice of Mr. Evans, "I see. So your love almost died. Because you failed to protect her?" Soul's heart dropped into his stomach, and he just looked at his father dully. Still, he felt nothing. Not even guilt.

Maka stood up, angry, "It was my fault! Soul told me to time my hit, but I didn't listen. I was reckless and impulsive, and I paid for it." Her venom-green eyes locked his bright, cold ones (so like the shape of Soul's eyes) in a vicious glare. She eventually won, because he looked away and stepped back, "Alright. I'll pay for it. Your mother would have it no other way, anyhow."

And he stepped out of the room, once again stepping out of Soul's life. Good riddance.

**Soul's Confessions #2 - Defeat **

"I suppose I'll let  
this go and find a reason . . . . . . . I'll hold on to  
I'm so ashamed  
of defeat."

The thing Soul feared  
the most was . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . losing  
to himself.  
It was like  
Maka said, "If all I  
ever had was . . . . . . . . . . . thoughts of my failure,  
then I would  
never win."

Watching . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Maka  
nearly die  
reminded Soul  
that he had . . . . . . . . . . . so very hard,  
let down his  
partner,  
best friend,  
lover.

It was like the sound of  
his piano pounding a . . . . . . "so love me  
my nightmares,"  
taking his  
darkest fears  
to play them like  
a horrific lullaby.

It meant everything to protect his . . . . . . Maka  
from his dark song,  
sculpting out an . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "I'll do my best."  
weaving his reassurance  
around her . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . doubt.

"Love me tender, love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . me  
forever," was all he  
had ever asked.  
This was . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . not  
his death. It was  
a struggle for air,  
for his  
victory.  
He had always  
told himself, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "I will defeat this."

**Marred**

Maka watched Soul (he was sitting in the living room, listening to his iPod, so typically Soul) from the counter, as she chopped up vegetables. He was no longer allowed to cook, either. Too many knives. He could burn himself. On purpose. Too many temptations with which to hurt himself. She sighed, and hacked up a carrot. She had gone through the apartment that evening, found every possible thing he could use to cut himself, locked it up or hid it from him. He had also taken his lithium, and had since (seeing him sick always made her wince) thrown up thrice, and dropped his pencil several times (the meds really did make his hands shake, horribly and uncontrollably) while attempting to do his homework. He had finally given up on trying, and called Maka over to write while he dictated. He now lay on the couch, probably feeling nauseous. Yet he had insisted (though it seemed pointless) that she make his share of dinner. He would probably puke it all back up, later. But nevertheless, she was making one of (she was determined to make him feel better) his favorite foods, homemade chicken noodle soup. He felt sick, anyway, so it suited the occasion. She dropped the chopped vegetables in the pot, and turned it down to simmer. She pulled off her apron and set the table, then joined him in the living room. He looked dead to the world, laying on the couch, sleeping with his iPod blasting music.

She poked him in the cheekbone, "Oi. Deadman." He moaned and waved (he was difficult to wake up) her hand away, and turned over, hugging the couch pillow. She tried to pull it out from under him, but his fist suddenly walloped her in the stomach in a reflexive response. She doubled over, wheezing in both pain (the punch) and laughter (because Soul had amazing reflexes, even in his sleep), man this was funny!

She finally recovered enough to poke him again in the cheek, "C'mon, you deaf log, wake the hell up." No response. She flicked him on his button nose. He slapped himself in the face (oh, this was _priceless_!), and promptly woke up with a yelp of pain. Maka almost fell over laughing; she had to support herself on the arm of the couch, shaking with mirth. He stared at his partner, looking completely and utterly confused (he obviously didn't remember hitting himself in the nose) to find his partner leaning on the couch giggling like a maniac, "What the hell is so funny?" She gasped a few times (lack of sleep must have made her slap-happy) and regained enough breath to speak, "You--you hit yourself--in--in--the face!" And she dissolved again into more giggling. Soul just rolled his eyes, "Sometimes, I wonder where you left your sanity. You need to go find it." The comment made Maka laugh more (she was sure it was meant to be serious) as she followed Soul into the kitchen.

Eventually, her laughter (it had been this way, for a while) gave way to heaviness again. Soul never laughed, anymore. A month ago, he would have been chuckling right along with her. Now he just (looking as though he wished he could laugh like that, too) watched dully. They got their bowls of soup in silence, and Maka felt the weight of their sorrow weigh on her once more. It almost made her cry (the reminder was so harsh, so abrupt), the drop from giddy to devastated.

She watched as he set his soup on the table before he sat down, and pulled off his hoodie. As he did so, the hoodie caught the edge of his t-shirt to pull up and reveal a sample of his toned bronze abdomen, and she noticed a red (no, she thought she had locked up all the sharp things) cut slicing across his skin. She set her own bowl down, walked over, pulled up his shirt to look. He sighed, "I did it yesterday, not today."

Three bright, angry cuts ran the width of his stomach, interrupting his smooth apricot skin. She ran a hand over the cuts, feeling his defined abs, his bumpy scar, her reminder (and it never failed to make her feel guilty, all over again) of the payment by life he was willing to make for her. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes, and dropped his shirt. His arms encircled her, pulling her (he always tried his best to make her feel better, even when he knew it was impossible) to his strong chest. He kissed her on the cheek, whispered an, "I'm sorry."

She just shook her head, ran her hands on his rough forearms, staring at the ugly damage he had inflicted on himself. He knew it hurt her, so very much. So why did he continue to do it? He lived in his worst nightmares (he had told her that they never stop torturing him), worried in constant fear for Maka's life, doused in his own, personal, living Hell. His agony had turned to numbness, in an involuntary mental defense (the human brain was a strange, complex thing), yet the numbness somehow seemed to hurt him more than the pain. So he marred his beautiful body with knives, with his own weapon abilities, to break a stroke of life in the deathly, suffocating numbness.

Their situation was entirely so horribly, tragically ironic.

**Soul's Confessions #3 - Weakness**

"And I'm . . . . . . . . . . . out of reason to believe  
in me  
I'm out of  
trying to get by**.**"

Soul wondered if . . . . . . . there was a method to  
this madness  
in his head.  
His screaming  
monsters and pre-  
Kishin demons  
refused, denied . . . . . . . . . . . his escape.

Hoped the day would  
come, where he  
didn't need . . . . . . . . . . . to pick up a knife  
and slice open  
his vein and  
Maka's heart  
again and . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . again,  
out of selfish  
numbness.

If the world  
knew, it would  
mark him as a . . . . . . . . . . . . fuck up,  
since humanity is a . . . . . . . . hard,  
harsh race,  
slashing apart  
Soul's damaged . . . . . . . death of heart, as he  
struggles not to  
drown.

His demons couldn't be . . . . . . . stopped,  
not by lithium  
not be sleeping pills.  
Horrors grabbed  
his psyche and . . . . . . . . . . . . his reason,  
pulled at it,  
played with it, . . . . . . . . . . . cranking hard  
against his will.

But he was determined  
not to swallow more pain,  
lose logic, get high . . . . . . . . . on the blade,  
He would not . . . . . . . . . . . . . fly out of control  
and cut himself again.

He couldn't handle it if . . . . . . . he crashed  
his strength.

He couldn't live with himself if . . . . . . he burned  
up his soul.

**Lithium**

Soul woke up to an excruciating (not to mention the nausea), pounding migraine. The lithium. He groaned and turned over to stare past Maka's sleeping form at the nightstand. The digital radio clock read seven-thirteen AM. He sighed; the alarm (he hoped the rock station he had it tuned to was playing something soft) was about to go off at seven-fifteen. Might as well get up, now. He tried to sit up, but his head spun like crazy. The lithium also fucked with his blood sugar, just great! At least he'd had a full night's (thank you, Lunesta!) dreamless sleep. It had been a relief, to sink for once into dark, sweet oblivion. He hated the lith. He had tried twice the previous night to transform (he wanted to test and see if what Stein said was true) into his scythe form, only to be met with a pounding pain in his body, due to a surge of blood to his extremities. Stein had explained that lithium worked by regulating the salt content in the blood cells, basically increasing the salt production in the body which also affected the blood sugar level. The function of blood (man, Soul totally _killed_ in his weapon biology class) in a weapon was one of the things on which a successful biological conversion (the scientific name for a transformation) depended. So, when the chemistry in a weapon's blood was disrupted (say, by a drug like lithium), it prevented or interfered with the ability to transform. It was all so _brilliant_, knowing the mechanisms, but remaining helpless. Soul closed his eyes, and wondered if Maka (after the alarm went off, and she woke up, of course) could help him sit up, guide him into the kitchen.

He jumped as Paramore (he was pretty sure the song was _Decode_, but he wasn't sure) began to play as the alarm was activated, startling him. It began softly, getting louder. Maka began to stir beside him, and he watched (she was so cute and funny when she was drowsy) as she slowly reached out an arm, flipped the switch to silence the alarm. She was waking up slowly, she had been having trouble getting up lately. For Maka, it was different. She rarely awoke from the nightmare, she was always (it was all his fault, that was always at the back of his mind, nagging him) opening her eyes into one. She turned over to face him, and sat up slightly, and kissed him on the head, "Good morning." He tried again to sit up, and his headache worsened, the room began to spin, "Morning. I feel dizzy." Her huge, innocent, captivating green eyes softened in concern, and she smoothed back the bangs from his forehead, her cool, calloused hand a relief to his hot skin, "You do? Is it the lithium?"

He began to nod, but this sent him careening around the room, "Yeah. Can you help me? I need to eat something, I think my blood sugar is low."

"Mmm-hmmm." She got out of bed and walked around to his side. He sat up again, swaying and watching the room revolve around him, his headache pounding a tattoo into his skull. He groaned and leaned his head (it felt like he had been hit incessantly with a hammer) against her soft chest as she dragged his arm around her shoulders, "C'mon." She pulled on him to get up, her other arm around his waist. His feet found the floor, and he stood, leaning against his partner's thin frame (the spinning was making his stomach churn) and trying not to allow any bile to rise in his throat. Man, he hoped he didn't vomit. He stumbled as Maka began to walk, and she caught him, preventing him from falling. She pulled on him as they made their way into the kitchen, and Maka set him down in a chair, "You okay? Can you sit up on your own?" Soul swayed, and felt his stomach lurch, "Oh, God. I need a basin!" Maka released him, rushed to the cabinet, grabbed something. She caught it just in time, Soul puked right into it as soon as she handed him the container. He groaned and rested his head on the cool tabletop, watching as his girlfriend (God, she loved him so very much, doing things like dealing with his sick) took the basin and disposed the contents, washed it out. Soul guessed he had thrown up last night's dinner. He had felt sick the previous night, when he went to bed, but he had kept everything down. Was probably too tired and drugged to get sick, he simply fell asleep.

The lithium made him feel hazy (like he was floating, just simply existing, apathetic) and brought him into shades of numb gray, pulling him up from the deep, empty blue he had been previously drowning in. He still felt just as numb, and his inability to transform so he could cut, the denial of sharp objects by the people who cared for him, simultaneously frustrated (what other relief did he have?) and relieved (he hated it when others worried about him, and this would give them less reason to worry) him. He still felt numb, and it made him want to scream. Do they know how much it suffocates him? How horribly dead he was? His heart felt like lead, and the rest of his body was filled with sawdust. He was empty (he would never be filled) of everything. Like when you wake up to the warmth of the sun, body soaked (nothing seemed to fill people like the warmth of solar energy) in comfort and joy, and the smell of the beach. Or like when you watched the snow outside as it shivered in its fall, landing softly and crackly (so white in its purity, beauty, transparency) on the ground, and you breathed in the lack of smell that was ice, and quivered in delight.

He'd lost those things. Because he had chosen to deny himself what little beauty and purity that existed in this ugly world.

Among those fair, few beauties

was Maka.

**Soul's Confessions # 4 - Worthy**

"I'm so . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . afraid of the gift  
you give me  
I don't belong here  
and I'm not well."

Soul knew he  
didn't deserve  
to be treated, to  
have him be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . saved for  
no point.  
Because . . . . . . . . . . . . . . his shredded heart  
beat to the rhythm  
of the damned, . . . . . . . . . . . he was  
condemned to  
darkness  
from the  
beginning.

"I'm so . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ashamed of  
the lie I'm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . living  
Right on the  
wrong side  
of it all."

Soul knew he didn't deserve  
Maka's love, Maka's purity.  
For everytime he spilled his blood . . . . . . by his blade,  
for everytime he saw her tears  
spill over her eyes,  
he felt himself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . only desire to cut more.

Soul knew he didn't deserve  
anything, he was sick of his . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . apathetic  
actions, it showed he . . . . . . . . . . . didn't care anymore,  
because he . . . . . . . . . . did nothing but cut.

**Dance**

Soul heard the music (sweet, dark, sad) as soon as he opened the apartment door. He had stayed behind after school so Stein could take his blood. Taking the lithium demanded he had a regular blood test, apparently. So he was to have one every two weeks. He moved into the living room, and the music (it was so dark, sad, yet poignant and beautiful) grew louder. He recognized Amy Lee's beautiful, haunting soprano, and realized it was coming from Maka's room. Evanescence was one of her favorites. He entered his room (now devoid of sharp objects) and put away his satchel, pulled out that evening's homework to do later. He recognized the song as _All That I'm Living For_, the acoustic version, as he heard some of the lyrics through the wall. "_Piecing every thought together/ Find the words to make me better/ If I only knew how to pull myself apart./ All that I'm living for,/ All that I'm dying for,/ All that I can't ignore alone at night./ All that I'm wanted for,/ Although I wanted more./ Lock the last open door, my ghosts are gaining on me._"

Soul dumped his textbooks and papers on his desk, and exited the room. As he passed Maka's room, he noticed that the door was ajar. He leaned against the wall (he often looked to see what she was doing, shut away in here) and peeked through the crack. Maka was dancing. He couldn't remember (but it took his breath away) what style of dance this was called. Ah, that's right. Contemporary. He watched as his Technician brought her arms to her chest, swayed side-to-side, then brought her arms up in a tense, sweeping "why me?" gesture, she fell to her knees, her face screwed up (Maka always threw herself fully into her movement) in the agony of the dance, collapsed against the floor, pounding on it gracefully, pretending (or was she really?) to cry. Such pain in this dance. And the song suited it so well, "_I believe that dreams are sacred./ Take my darkest fears and play them/ Like a lullaby,/ Like a reason why,/ Like a play of my obsessions,/ Make me understand the lesson,/ So I'll find myself,/ So I won't be lost again._"

Soul _loved_ to watch Maka dance. Like his piano playing, she didn't tell (Soul guessed it was because she had stopped taking classes) many people about it. But her talent was exquisite. He knew she had been dancing from a very young age, about three or four, and had taken classes up until she was thirteen. She stopped once she entered Shibusen (not by choice, but because her papa asked her to, so she could become a Technician like her mom), as the demands of the missions and homework would be too much in combination with hours of high-level dance classes. However, she had told Soul that she had achieved a high enough level to have danced en pointe (it was the style of ballet in which the ballerina danced on her toes) for two years before she had to quit, after which she took private lessons for a while. She was also an incredible contemporary dancer. He had watched her several times, as well as several other specimens, in the organic, emotional style. He had seen some hard competition, but none (maybe he was biased, but all well) compared to his Maka. He watched as she leaped across the room, spun, collapsed against the wall, and slid down it to lean against it, eyes closed, hand over her head, in silent pain, as the closing lyrics of the song fell on his ears, "_Should it hurt to love you?/ Should I feel like I do?/ Should I lock the last open door,/ My ghosts are gaining on me._"

As the young weapon heard the last lines ("should it hurt to love you?" struck him the hardest), saw the painful way Maka had danced, he realized with a jolt that this piece was about him. He had just witnessed Maka's feelings--her pain--about_ his _pain, his cutting. He had heard somewhere (he thinks it was his mother who told him, he wasn't quite sure) that art was a window into the artist's soul, that only through experiencing art did you find the emotions, meanings, dreams of other people, that in turn fed your own soul. Maka had just unknowingly laid bare her heart to him, in one of the most captivating ways he could imagine. Yet, he was sorry he had caused her so much pain, that her exquisite piece of artwork (he wondered for the millionth time what was wrong with him) still induced no emotion in him. He sighed, and walked back into his room, grabbed his iPod, needed escape.

Was he forever condemned to emptiness?

**Soul's Confessions #5 - Mirror Ice**

"I can't face myself  
when I wake up  
And look . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . inside a mirror  
I'm so ashamed  
of that thing."

Drowning in nothing,  
wishing for everything  
he couldn't have . . . . . . . . . Cracked, shattered, broken  
desires, half forgotten,  
left somewhere on  
yesterday's other side.

Asphixiating from the cold, . . . . . . . . . freezing  
his healthy, warm  
soul, pumping  
so his tears would flow,  
so his chest  
could rise  
and fall,  
in life's rhythm.

Instead he was frozen, . . . . . . . . . icy, crystalline emotions  
fogging his breath,  
stopping his heart. . . . . . . . . . . . He was a bad reflection of  
the world, so  
selfish, letting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . himself  
allow this  
weakness.

**Sharp**

Soul _needed_ it. He needed to grasp onto a slice of feeling, to murder this empty numbness, worse than death. He needed (but he knows he shouldn't) a fix of steel. He needed (this was so, _so_ bad for him) a hit of pain. The lithium did nothing, made no difference, but stopped him from transforming. He needed something sharp and sweet, to dig into his arm. Or else he swore he was going to scream, or lose his mind. This gray haze he had been floating through for the past week and a half made him feel sluggish. At least he could sleep, now. The pills stopped his nightmares, but not the scary reality of what _things_ might happen (he couldn't say the words to himself) the next time he and Maka were given a mission. And that prevented him from recovering emotions, as his brain still induced numbness, so he would not have to endure the pain. So he needed to cut.

He sat down beside Maka in the Shibusen cafeteria, picking at his lunch (a delicious-looking hamburger and fries, but his stomach still hadn't fully grown used to the lith) and stared as Death the Kid, Black Star, Tsubaki and Liz discussed the possibility of flying to Sanduskey, Ohio for a weekend this coming month, so they could spend the weekend at Cedar Point, while Maka watched the conversation in mild interest. Soul had been to the coaster park before, a number of times. He used to go every year (it was something special they did), just him and his mom. But then he entered Shibusen, was burdened with obligations, so that ended.

Kid stared at the papers (he had printed information off the internet, just like Kid to be impeccably prepared) in his hand, "Yeah. They have lots to do. Roller coasters, a water park. Soak City, it's called."

Black Star snatched the printout from his friend's hand, "Soak City? Sweet! Do you think they have water coasters?" He and Tsubaki had been oblivious to Soul's dilemma (Soul hadn't been sure if Black Star would understand the situation, and his motive for cutting, and the others had agreed) though Kid and his weapons knew. The young shinigami had spent quite a good deal of the past two weeks observing his dear friend in concern throughout the school day.

Kid leaned over, happily observing a picture of the Millennium Force, "Do you think any of them are symmetrical?" Black Star and Maka both snorted (they made fun of Kid regularly for his obsession) into their food. Leave it to Kid to care about nothing but symmetry. Liz shook her head, "Oh, Kiddo. You're hopeless!" Kid smiled at the affectionate use of the nickname. Liz and Maka had branded him with it recently. Soul perked up, "Yeah, actually. Top Thrill Dragster. It's not perfectly symmetrical, but almost."

Kid scoffed, "That's disgusting! If you're gonna make something symmetrical, you should make it _fully_ symmetrical. Otherwise, it's not symmetrical!"

Soul shrugged, "Take it or leave it, it's the closest you're gonna get. Oh, no, wait a minute, there's the Wicked Twister."

Black Star paged through the packet and found a picture of it, "Here." He handed it to Kid.

The young god's face lit up, and he smiled, "Awesome! It _is_ very symmetrical!"

Soul sighed and rolled his eyes, and Maka stifled her giggles. Kid glared at them over (he was getting increasingly annoyed with his friends' teasing) the paper, then his eyes softened as they turned to Soul, "Hey, Soul. How are you, today?"

The young weapon shrugged, "I'm okay. Not worth worrying about me, Kid."

Kid nodded, not wanting to say anymore in front of Black Star, "Alright. Just let me know if you need anything."

Black Star looked from shinigami to scythe, confused, "What're you guys talking about?"

Maka laid a hand on his arm, "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Black Star leaned around Maka, to stare at Soul, "Hey, man, something up with you? The great me wants to know!" For once, the ninja meister was serious, his face intent with concern. Obviously, he had noticed the strain that clung to Soul and Maka like a damn disease. There was a loud thump as Kid kicked him (he was distracting Black Star from the present situation) under the table. Black Star jumped in pain, "OUCH!! What the hell was that for!?"

Kid smiled darkly, "Let's have a duel. Right now."

Black Star leaped onto the table, "HYAA-HOOO!! YOU'RE ON!!" He leaped off the table, grabbed Tsubaki's hand, and dashed out of the cafeteria, closely followed by the Thompsons and Kid, to whom Soul mouthed a thank-you as the god glanced over his shoulder at them. Maka sighed and rolled her eyes, thumped her head, face-down, into the table. Soul guessed she was getting sick of boys and their stupidity. Or maybe she was just exhausted from everything. Soul placed a hand on her back, gave it a small rub, "You okay?" She nodded her head against the table, sighed again. Soul stared at Kid's abandoned food, noticed he had been drinking a can of green-flavored Monster energy drink, the shinigami's favorite. Soul glanced at Maka, who still was laying face down on the table, and the young weapon pulled the drink over.

He twisted off the pull-tab, rubbed his thumb over the serrated edge as he slipped it into his pocket. He'd be home before Maka. She had to stay to help Kid and Tsubaki with some sort of project.

It would allow him the fix he needed.

**Soul's Confessions #6 - Pain**

"I suppose I'll let it go  
Until I have  
something more  
to say  
for me. I'm . . . . . . . . . . so afraid  
of defeat."

Life was made . . . . . . . . of choices.  
It was these  
choices that  
defined one's . . . . . . . . . life.  
Some made  
good ones.  
Others . . . . . . . . . . . . . . made  
bad ones.

Life was made of . . . . . . . . . difficulties.  
Humanity warred  
with each other, . . . . . . . . . an endless  
complex of  
destruction,  
powerful in its . . . . . . . . . . . labyrinth of pain.

Life was made of . . . . . . . . . beautiful images,  
butterflies on  
skulls, light  
among carnage.  
These were . . . . . . . . . . . . . . rare and few  
blessings  
that graced the . . . . . . . . . . corrupted  
Earth.

Life was made . . . . . . . . . . by his blade,  
whether he chose  
to cut, or not, by  
how much he  
wished . . . . . . . . . . . . . . for pain.

Would he ever  
be released  
of this vice?  
Was pain all  
he would  
ever know?

Forever  
was  
he  
condemned  
to  
cut?

**Release**

Maka watched as Black Star, Patti and Kid laughed (they were walking ahead of she and Tsubaki, who paced quietly beside her) ahead of her, at some carefree, unknown joke. She smiled wanly, remembering a time (those days seemed an entire lifetime ago) when that could have been her partner. He had been home for nearly two hours, she hoped he was okay. Blair would get him something to eat. She just hoped the cat-witch was smart enough to stop him from doing or possessing anything that might tempt him. Soul could be clever, manipulative, when he wanted to be. She had explained Soul's depression and addiction to steel to Tsubaki that afternoon (it was still agreed that things should be kept from Black Star, despite the fact he was Soul's BFF), as they worked on the project. It had been successful, they had made much progress in their presentation outline (the assignment was to give a presentation to the class on the role Techs played in WWII, for their Technician World History class), and Black Star had decided to stay on and help, but really just ended up annoying Maka, distracting Kid (man, even decent boys became idiots when they congealed in groups with other boys), and stressing out (her meister almost broke several things) Tsubaki. Liz and Patti, like Soul, had gone home ahead of their partner. She sighed (it was half annoyance, half longing) and stopped and watched, as Kid summoned his skateboard, and began showing Black Star some sort of stupid kick-flip thing he had apparently invented himself. Maka, Tsubaki, and Black Star all laughed as he wiped out, flat on his bad-ass (ah, sarcasm) shinigami face. Maka held her sides and laughed heartily until tears filled her eyes. She didn't laugh much these days, so she stole every chance she had. Kid got up and smacked Black Star over the head, and fake-glared at Maka, "It's not _that_ funny."

Maka recovered enough breath to answer, "Yes it is! You KLUTZ!" And she collapsed into more giggles, while Kid once again performed the trick, this time succeeding. Black Star cackled, and threw an arm around the female Tech's shoulder, "C'mon!" He pulled her forward, so she walked, and stopped laughing enough to function properly. Kid fell into step on Maka's other side (he was such a dear friend to her, one of her best, like a brother), putting both his arms around Maka and Tsubaki, each. Maka beamed, this was such an awesome way to go home. Arm-in-arm, with some of her most favorite people in the world! This was a definite high for Kid (he had been hopelessly, anxiously worried about Soul, lately), as well as (mostly) for Maka. The apartment complex Maka and Soul lived in loomed over them, and Black Star yanked on their arms as they got to the entrance, "C'mon! Kid, you gotta show Soul that skateboard move, it's way wicked sweet!" They clambered up the stairs, talking and laughing, especially when Kid mock-pushed then grabbed back Maka and shouted, "SAVED YOUR LIFE!" Causing her to screech in surprise. Maka chased him up the staircase with their huge-ass history textbook, and finally exercised a good whack over his head, as sufficient punishment.

The blonde girl fumbled with her keys at the door (God, she was so disorganized) to her's and Soul's apartment. Behind her, Kid and Black Star (Kid was so _stupid_ around Black Star, _stupider_ than Soul) had started a "let's-see-who-can-poke-the-hardest" contest. From the giggles and yelps of pain, Kid was winning. Maka rolled her eyes at Tsubaki, who smiled cheerily, and inserted the right key into the lock, twisted it, opened the door, "C'mon, Stupid and Dummy, in!"

Kid flinched and winced (he was exaggerating it, stupid, dumb guy) as Black Star poked him, and poked his friend back, "Am I Stupid, or Dummy? 'Cause frankly, Dummy sounds better than Stu--"

"Oh, just shut the hell up and get in the damn apartment!" Kid ducked his head and snickered, "'Kay." He slipped past her into the apartment, followed by Black Star, who continued to poke the taller boy in the back. Tsubaki giggled and followed them, and Maka closed the door behind them. She dumped her stuff by the door, where everyone else had, to which Kid immediately ducked to and began to arrange the bags symmetrically while simultaneously trying to ward off Black Star's poke attacks. Maka wondered where Soul was, maybe the bathroom. He wasn't in the kitchen. Maka checked the bathroom door; it was open. Ah, his room! Maka strode into it happily, ready to tell her boyfriend about her day, "Hey, Soul--"

She stopped.

She stared.

Soul was sitting on the bed. Arm bleeding. Something small and metallic (looked like a pull tab from a pop can) in his hand. Maka felt her heart stop beating. Her partner looked startled, as though he hadn't been expecting (the thought that he didn't care nagged at the back of her mind, but she shoved it away) someone to walk in, he must not have heard them come in. He rushed to hide the damage, but it was too late. It was spread all over his arm, staining red all over the comforter, all over Maka's heart. Her weapon got up, "I'm sorry! I just needed it a little, not much--" Maka shook her head, slowly backed away. She ran into something warm and hard, and a gentle hand reached across her collarbone, steadied her. Kid had stepped into the doorway (poor boy, he had to deal with death all the time as a shinigami, he didn't need this), was staring at the last thing he probably ever wanted to see. He shook his head, hand squeezing Maka's shoulder painfully, "When will you be able to stop?" Soul shrugged at the question, then his eyes went wide as Black Star's voice cut over Kid's head, "Hey, why're you guys so qui--" He stopped as he saw Soul. Stared at the throb, throb, throb of blood gushing from vein. Saw the sharp object in Soul's hand. Drew the worst conclusion, "Man . . . what the _fuck_ did you do to yourself?! Wha--what kind of freak are you?!" Soul flinched at the word "freak," and closed his eyes painfully as Black Star slowly backed away, horror illustrated across his face, "You're fucking messed up." He turned, commanded Tsubaki to follow, exited the apartment. Maka winced as the door slammed, and Kid finally released (his grip was beginning to get painful) her shoulder. He sighed behind her, the exhalation fluttering her pigtails, "I think I'm going to go, now." Maka turned to say goodbye, and was pleasantly surprised (it brought tears to her eyes, how much he seemed to care) when he hugged her, "I'm sorry. Do your best for him." He offered a hug to Soul as well, but the cutter shook his head. The shinigami left.

Maka stared at her partner in pain, in tears, in disbelief, "Why, Soul? When you know it's bad?"

He shook (he looked so helpless) his head, "I don't know what else to do, Maka. What other choice do I have?"

"Isn't the lith and sleeping pills helping?"

"Sleeping pills, yeah. Lith, no. It just stops me from cutting, because I can't transform. And stopping my nightmares doesn't stop reality. It's always in the back of my mind, Maka."

"It's always in the back of mine, too. So, you need pain, or physical sensation? What am I going to do with you? Find a replacement? What else is vivid enough for you, besides pain?"

Soul shrugged, "Nothing really. Lust and sex, probably, kinda." Maka nodded, then moved towards him, sat down on the bed beside him. Her arms encircled him, but he pushed her away, "No."

Maka released him, "You need to do something besides cut."

"It's unhealthy to use sex for physical satisfaction, when you're numb."

Maka snorted, "Well, you're one to talk! What else am I going to do?"

Soul shook his head, "No. I'm not going to--to--_use_ you like that."

Maka glared at him, stubborn and immovable, "I don't care if you use me. I'm allowing you to."

"But it won't _mean_ anything, Maka! Not when I feel nothing in my heart. Or spirit."

"You love me, don't you?"

He answered without hesitation and true sincerity, "Yes, of course I do!"

"Then it'll mean something. If love was a feeling, you couldn't love me. You know love isn't a feeling. It's an act. Do this for me, _please._"

Soul got up from the bed and shook his head again, "No. It won't fix anything. Here." He tossed her the sharp pull tab, "I'll allow you to deny me my drug."

Maka was upset and frustrated, and just so, so tired, "Well, what should I do, then?! Hit you with Maka-chops every five minutes so you'll always be in pain?"

Soul stared for a moment, and he _smiled_. No painful, fake, dead smile, it was a sweet, bright, crooked, happy, saw-toothed, classic Soul _smile_! His whole face lit up (Maka had never been so happy to see _him_ happy in her life), his once dead eyes alighted, burning the before blood-red crimson the color of roses, and he showed his full set of sharp, pointy teeth, "I think that would _definitely_ be unhealthy. Do you know how many of my brain cells you've probably killed, already?" Maka laughed, and jumped up, walked up to him, hugged him, "Are you feeling better?" Soul's smile lessened, "I guess. But . . . Black Star . . . . my best friend . . . . called me . . . ." His face crumbled, the look of delight replaced by agony.

A few lumps of saltwater were forced from his eyes, flowed down his face. And all at once, he collapsed against Maka (this was _beautiful_, it was moments like these that made life worthy of continuing), a sobbing, wet mess of outflowing emotion, discovered and wrenched somewhere out of the haze of numbness, and ripped through his heart. For once, Soul let himself be the weak one, allowed himself to cry, to need comfort. For once, he let his feelings go.

Maka simply just held him.

That night, he cried himself to sleep, releasing all the agony built up inside, cleansing his soul with tears of medicine.

Looks like he had recovered his emotions, after all.

**Soul's Confessions #7 - Emotion**

"And I'm . . . . . . . . . . out of reason to  
believe in me.  
I'm out of  
trying to . . . . . . . . . . . . . defy."

Soul simply wanted . . . . . . . . . one cut,  
one fix of steal,  
one hit of pain.  
Plunge the sharp  
blade into his flesh, . . . . . . . . . felt the blood gush.  
Let the vivid, toxic,  
sensation ripple across, . . . . . . . felt the physical agony.  
He was a weak person,  
doing this to himself.  
So he opened  
his skin,  
again.

Soul simply wanted . . . . . . . . . . . . two cuts,  
for every time  
he had screwed up,  
let his friends down. . . . . . . . . A shadow stirred  
like guilt, or was it  
regret? Forever  
was he designed  
to suffocate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . in his own chest,  
on his own emotional  
functions. He was  
a deadbeat, . . . . . . . . . . supposed to be a shell.  
So he opened  
his skin,  
again.

Soul simply wanted . . . . . . . three cuts  
to stop  
the dull, mundane  
reality of living  
like a zombie.  
He sensed . . . . . . . . . . . . something like  
beauty in all  
the blood.  
The pump of . . . . . . . . . . . agony  
from his vein  
was a way to  
pour out the  
mental poison that  
polluted and . . . . . . . . . pulled at his heart.  
So he opened  
his skin,  
again.

Soul simply wanted . . . . . . . . . four cuts  
because Maka  
had found him  
again, cutting. He  
watched her . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . pain,  
and it burned  
the silent screams that . . . . . . . . burst over  
them, always existing  
somewhere between  
Soul's pumping vein and  
Maka's wide stare . . . . . . . . . . . . . Soul's soul  
was dead, from the . . . . . . . . horrific, tortured, vivid  
exhaustion of  
enduring his worst  
nightmares.  
So he opened  
his skin,  
again.

Soul simply wanted . . . . . . . . . . . five cuts  
for the beauty  
and the cruelty  
of the world.  
Contradiction  
fell against . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . his eyes  
for every mission  
completed.  
Some lived,  
some injured,  
some died. To be . . . . . . . . . . filled with tears  
was the lot of  
a meister, a weapon.  
So he opened  
his skin,  
again.

Soul simply wanted . . . . . . . . . . six cuts  
to deny the  
sheer weight of  
his own apocalypse  
falling on him . . . . . . . . . . . . He let himself  
navigate the maze  
that spiritual death  
entailed, dooming  
himself for himself,  
because he thought  
there was no way out.  
His sweet sacrifice  
would make his Maka . . . . . . . . weep.  
So he opened  
his skin,  
again.

**Living Again**

Soul almost drowned (oh, how wonderful to drown in such vivacious life!) in the overwhelming emotions enveloping him. Something had pulled at his heart, from the first moment Maka had walked in, seen his relapse. And Black Star. A "freak." The things his friend had said kept playing over and over in his mind. They wouldn't leave his head. Swirling through all the emotions, the predominant was pain, tossing him on an ocean that was swirls of gray (the lithium), and streaks of blue (the sorrow). He drank it all up, like it was the tonic of life, and poured it out in tears. He cried much for a couple days (he normally wasn't this weepy, but he had so much to purge), sometimes alone, sometimes with Maka for comfort. His Technician was the only person he would show tears to. Her place was the only that was designed for his sorrow's succor. Not that of his friends, nor his teachers.

Several times, he had been tempted by the knife. Now, the pain felt beyond his control, a raging storm that he was stuck in, or a vast ocean where he drowned and struggled for air. And cutting might release some of that pain, and he could control it. Couldn't he? But he knew he shouldn't touch it, that cutting _was_ like an addictive little white pill, and one thing led to another, and another. If he cut, he'd only want more, and more, until his masochistic thirst could not be satiated. Then he would end up (making no progress was not an option) back where he started, and he would not subject the people he loved (namely Maka) to that. So he denied himself his desired fix of sharp steel, and tried his best to control (Maka and his other friends helped a lot) the storm of emotions whirling inside him. Fortunately, among these feelings was joy (it almost floored him, how much joy his heart managed to muster up from the depths of emptiness), tenderness, happiness, longing, all for his Maka. He had forgotten how much he loved to watch her smile (he began to crack jokes again, the first time after which Maka burst into tears of joy, and laughed so hard, Soul was worried for her oxygen level), how much he missed the way she would shake her spoon (or some other cooking utensil, preferably not knives, it made him nervous about her intent to murder) at him, whenever he snuck a taste before dinner was ready, and most of all, when she told him she felt like the luckiest girl in the world, to have him all to herself.

Soul smiled as he watched Maka (she looked much better, now, than she did before) focus on her homework. She was sitting on the floor, beside the coffee table, paper spread around her, chewing on her pen as she stared at her notebook. She had already written two pages of the five they needed for their weapon biology essay. She was dressed in a tank top and shorts, to ward off the June Nevada heat. She leaned over to grab a book (it was about three feet away, he wondered if she could even reach it) off the stack she had checked out from the library. Her lithe body stretched, sinuous curves working, and the tops of her small breasts (did she realize how very tempting she could be?) spilled enticingly over the tank top. Soul stared happily at her body, and felt his muscles tense with desire. She grabbed the book and leaned back, flexible, beautiful body (Soul wondered if she was doing this on purpose, just to drive him crazy) relaxing as she leaned back against the coffee table. Soul sighed. Maka looked up, hypnotic green eyes dazzling him, delicate, heart-shaped face innocent, "Hey, do you know where that printout you had went?"

Soul snapped out of his lust-staring, and paid attention, "Huh, what?"

"The printout you had, off that one science site. The article about cell development?"

"Oh, that. Uuuum . . . I think it's in my room. Somewhere. Or, no, maybe my bag? I don't remember . . ."

Maka grimaced and stuck out her tongue, "You're hopeless." She pulled herself up to sit on the couch, and handed him the book, pointing to a passage, "What's this mean? I don't get it." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned over, squeezing her (oh, she looked so delicious) chest together. Soul admired her cleavage (she took absolutely no notice, thank God) for a moment before turning his eyes to the book. He read the passage, "It's talking about the affects of immunology functions on a successful biological conversion." Maka stared for a moment, blank look and all, and Soul laughed at this moment of role reversal.

"English, please?" She asked.

"Basically, what the immune system does do a weapon can transform. Like, there are illnesses I could get that would affect my powers. Severe auto-immune diseases, like Rheumatoid Arthritis, or Lupus."

Maka gawked at him, and Soul laughed again, "Since when were you such a good student?!"

Soul shrugged, "I do good. I have, like, a 3.5 GPA." Maka just shook her head (she was_ hilarious_ when she was in shock) and stared for a minute, then closed her mouth and leaned over to take the book, her smell of sunscreen and cocoa butter (this hadn't excited him in a long, long time) filling his nose, her small, toned body pressing against his. Resistance was now futile. He was sold. He wanted to make love to her _so bad_ right now. His own body wound tight, and he set the book on the side table, ran his hand (he had forgotten how soft her skin was) over her silky cheek. She paused, eyes locked with his, and he kissed her, softly and gently. Her rough hands moved softly over his face, down his neck, over his arms. Soul's hands wandered under (Christ, her skin was soft) her tank top. She sighed and pressed farther against him, leaning into his body. He drew back, reached his arms around her, picked her up, carried her into his bedroom, flopped her on the bed. He lay on top of her, his dear lover, glad he was capable of giving her himself once again, the one gift she had always asked for. Her body was soft (she felt so, _so good_, oh, how he had been denying himself) and supple under his hands, soft like silk and smooth like water.

He would let her flow through him as he played the art of lovemaking, like a piano, a melody to make him whole again.

**Soul's Confessions #8 - Promise  
**

"Hold me now  
I need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . to feel complete.  
Like I matter  
to the one  
I need."

Maka was the only . . . . . . . . girl  
Soul ever  
wanted.  
To be healed  
by the love  
of an angel  
like her.  
He felt  
so fortunate.

Soul was the only . . . . . . . . . . boy  
Maka ever  
desired.  
He knew  
she knew  
he was nothing  
like her father.  
So she  
trusted him.

That night, they . . . . . . . . . consummated  
Soul's promise  
that he would  
always  
try his best.  
Would not  
give into  
the knife.

**Music**

Maka awoke the next morning (it was beautiful today, sunlight streaming through the blinds, birds singing and chirruping) in Soul's arms. They had both fallen asleep nude, too content and happy to get dressed. She watched his face inches from hers, admiring the perfect way his white eyelashes reflected the light, burnishing them iridescent, rainbows of color playing along the fibers. His full, soft lips were parted slightly, bronze-ish pink, the same as the color in his cheeks, which were slightly flushed from the Nevada desert heat outside. His sculpted features were relaxed and content, and she traced a soft finger (his skin was soft as velvet, flawless, devoid of blemish, and apricot crush-colored) over the small, upturned button nose, over his round, defined cheekbone, which gave him an adorable apple-cheeks smile, whenever he did grin. She traced her finger down to the hollow between his collarbones, softly swirled her nail around it, then kissed him softly, there. He stirred beneath her lips, and she looked up to see him slowly open his eyes, their red color bright and living. He smiled, slow and sexy, admiring her with bedroom eyes, "Good morning." He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips, soft and feathery brushes. Maka smiled against his lips, "Good morning." She murmured through the kiss. He drew back, sighed, "Last night was _amazing._"

Maka nodded, "Yeah. I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Yeah." He shrugged, "I'm almost back to normal."

"But you'll be okay. Right?" She asked, concerned and hopeful.

His eyes (he was admiring the shape of her eyes) found hers, "Yeah. I will be." He changed his gaze to linger on her lips, and he traced over them with a finger, "It's all thanks to you. You pulled me out of the numbness."

"Are you still going to take the lith?"

He nodded, "Probably. We can talk to Stein. Maybe Prozac will be better, if I can resist cutting. We need to go on missions. And I'll definitely stay on the sleeping pills." He gathered her against him (his arms were strong and warm and confident, and the rough cuts no longer bothered her), his soft skin warm against hers, the crevices and twists of his body turning her on, "I can't stop thinking of what might happen." Maka glared at him stubbornly, "I'll be fine! You don't have to save me, and it's not your fault!" He smiled at her (she had to remember to breathe), crooked and loving, "Yeah, I do have to save you!" And his hands descended below her waist, and she gasped and shook with pleasure, "Not fair! Using bribery!" He laughed softly, and his hands worked harder, illiciting a moan from her. She enjoyed it a little longer, then untangled herself from him, "Stop seducing me!" He laughed again, and let her slide out of his hands as she got up, pulled on one of his t-shirt's over her body, which was enormous on her. He also got up, and pulled on his boxers and a t-shirt.

Suddenly, Soul's face lit up, "C'mere." He pulled on her arm, dragged her over to the keyboard set up in the corner of the room. He gestured to the stool beside the chair for the player, "Sit down." Maka beamed (it had been so long since she heard him play, she missed it) and sat down, as he took the chair beside her stool, and switched on the electronic instrument. His deft, chiseled hands rested for a moment on the ebony and ivory, and then he played a scale, experimented a little bit with different notes. Then, he closed his eyes (watching the musical notes inside his eyelids, existing in his head), and began to play.

The song began in the low, bass notes, rumbling in her chest, dark, sinister, scary. His face was screwed up in terror (he was probably watching her death, again), eyebrows scrunched together as he played his own nightmare. Maka's chest clenched in terror, hearing what he used to see every night, finally fully understanding his horror. The music moved up an octave, rippling over her in rich, hollow notes (she could hear his heart cracking in two), it was tragic and painful, terribly, terribly sad. Soul's face was now devoid of terror, and full of agony, as he relived his pain, and as the empty music washed over her she could see him slicing his skin open as he died on the inside. Her eyes welled over, and hot tears of empathy poured down her face. As the music progressed, it became quieter, more muted, symbolizing the death of Soul's inner music (his very soul), suppressed and silenced by numbness, addiction to cutting, lithium. A harmonic chord suddenly exploded on her ears, as Soul slammed on the piano, and the melody was simultaneously joy and pain, describing the burst of emotion that had somehow discovered him. He lingered the notes just long enough, sad and sweet, for Maka to pull the beauty from it, digest it. His other hand worked over the upper notes, lacing a sweeter, simpler, tender melody over the darker tones, the two arrangements harmonizing full and rich and complex as Soul's essence was. The music was so tangible, Maka swore she could reach out and grab it in her hands, receive the elusive gift of piano Soul was handing her. The darker notes slowly began to fade out, and the sweet melody (Maka knew now that this was _her_ he was playing) played on, trickling gently like a soft river, like a gentle _whoosh_ of wind. The notes tinkled out, slower and slower, until (Maka wished it could go on forever) it stopped, the last, sweet, high note lingering on in the air, her heart, her _soul_. Soul's hands were still on the keys, his eyes still closed, as though, like Maka, he wanted the song to last for eternity.

The musician slowly opened his eyes, sighed, leaned back from his instrument, his craft.

"I wrote it for myself, so I could let everything go. And for you, so you'll always understand the journey of a lifetime I went on."

Maka knew this piece had been poured from him, this was his _heart_ (what a rare gift this was, for him to so easily hand her his feelings), blatant and un-sugarcoated, laid bare and raw for her to hear, to experience, to love and hate and cry and laugh for.

This was a piece that took the listener on a journey.

The ultimate gift.

**Soul's Last Confession - The Gift**

"I'm so afraid of . . . . . . . . . . the gift  
you give me  
I don't belong here  
and I'm not well.  
I'm so ashamed . . . . . . . . . . . . of  
the lie I'm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . living, right  
on the  
wrong side  
of it all."

Soul will live for . . . . . . . . putting down the knife  
and walking  
away.  
He did it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . one day,  
when Maka forgot  
to put it away.  
He picked  
it up  
looked at  
his skin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . to remember his pain.  
Put it down.  
Walked away.  
Maka saw  
the whole thing.  
It made Soul  
smile.

Soul will live to . . . . . . . . . . never forget joy,  
unbridled and wild, to . . . wake up to the sun,  
watch the  
snow fall,  
laugh with . . . . . . . . . . . . . . abandon.  
He would  
help everyone  
and scorn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . no one.  
It made Soul  
smile.

Soul will live for . . . . . . . . . . tomorrow  
because he  
defeated his  
yesterday . . . . . . . . . . . . Looking brighter  
with every  
smile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . he received  
from . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . his  
friends.  
Black Star  
hugged him,  
said, "I'm sorry."  
It made . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Soul  
smile.

Soul will live to  
have his heart . . . . . . . . . . . . . back,  
to celebrate  
his rise  
out of  
the ashes.  
This was . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the ultimate  
accomplishment,  
the best goal  
achieved,  
humanity's . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . inheritance  
to be resilient,  
The best thing  
Soul could have  
asked for . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Gift.

* * *

**A/N:** Did you read only the outer lines of the poems, in addition to reading the whole? If not, go back and look, you will discover a whole new meaning to each. I'm so glad Soul is better! YAY!!

The next one will be a continuation of the last MaKi.

I want to know, should I keep the poetry? Please review!! ^_^


	7. Shinigami Aren't Allowed to Cry: MaKi

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

_Invisible_ lyrics copyright (c) 2007 Otep. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies do not in any way own these lyrics

_Anywhere_ lyrics copyright (c) 2000 Evanescence. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies do not in any way own these lyrics

_New Born_ lyrics copyright (c) 2009 Muse. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies do not in any way own these lyrics

* * *

_In response to an anonymous review:_

**To Sam:**

Oh, yes. The dots. Actually, in the original version in Word, the dots weren't there. I was forced to add them, because of FanFic. net's formatting. They would not keep the spaces in between, so I added the dots in order to keep the spaces. That is not a problem this chapter, as the format is pretty straightforward. But yeah. Sorry about that.

Thank you!! I work hard on my poetry. Hope you enjoy these poems!! YAY Kid angsts!! :3 X3 XD

Enjoy Moments 7!!! :3

Happy Reading!!

~Kashii

* * *

"_Dress like we do,  
Speak like we do,  
Think like we do._

_Obey..."_

_And so I obey Chichiue__  
even as I never cease to question__  
what eternal really means.  
Is it healthy to live forever?_

_My decay never stops  
__as they  
(the mortals, MY mortals)  
age and I don't.  
Time walks away before me  
and it stretches into eternity._

_Dress like Death,  
Speak like Death,  
Think like Death._

_Obey . . . _

_(Because Chichiue told me that shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

**Marble**

Maka stared at her weapon as he slept, so drugged up on morphine he could barely form a logical sentence while awake, let alone _stay_ awake. She held his large, bronze hand (it was smooth and warm, delicate, made for the keys of a piano) and stroked his hair back from his forehead, whispering reassurances to his sleeping form in order to reassure herself. Soul murmured something in his drug-induced sleep, and sighed softly, knowing she was there, delivering her wavelength. Maka smiled wanly, glad he acknowledged her presence as she wrapped him in her wavelength. He always knew where she was, and how she felt, at all times. She gently stroked his cheekbone, and his face began to blur for the fourth time that night as she felt warm liquid spill over her eyelids.

Kid had explained to her why he had done it, after he had turned his guns and rage against Terrien, who had escaped with his injuries and his promise that he would kill them all. Kid would have pursued the pre-Kishin, had Soul not been injured. Maka understood that it had been the best option. Like herself and every martial artist, Kid was intimately familiar with the subtle nuances of the human body. After having to convince Maka to listen to him, he had explained that the spot where he had shot Soul, with the lowest setting of his gun, would render him unconscious and stop his heart and lungs temporarily, thus making him appear dead. The young shinigami had then admitted the sixty percent chance that Soul may never wake up again. At this point, Maka's grief had given way to anger, and she had thrown her fist at his face. He didn't even flinch. He had taken her punches and screeched insults like they were kisses, not even moving to defend himself, as he let her (he knew she needed to vent her pain and worry) beat the living shit out of his face. He did not deserve it. Any of it. Soul would have yelled at her, had he been conscious, for being stupid and selfish.

Maka's hand found Soul's head, and she rested her palm over the curve of his skull, burrowing her fingers between the white chunks of his spiky hair, creating crevices for her fist, as she gathered a handful of the soft angel-down in between her fingers and palm. His hair was thick and soft, silky and heavy. She lodged her hand there, entangled among warm snow, and let it sit. She imagined, for a moment, a marble statue. Her hand and his hair, eternally fused (ah, this way they would never be separated) in marble. They would be carved out of marble, indeed, pure ivory, laced through with thin, spindly veins of dark green, like deep forest leaves or the grass at night. Yes, she would be forever with his soul, even after the yellow and black papermoon has crashed to meteorite dust; they would live on in a sculpture, never to be apart. Forever with his soul.

After she had expended her anger by berating Kid, she had stared for a moment at the fresh, purple-and-ugly bruises, ruining his face. She had ruined his beautiful face! At this point, she had burst into tears, much like a child who has broken her mother's favorite vase. Her anger was not against Kid, but really against herself, for failing, she afterward realized. Soul would have (God bless him, she wished he was conscious) then reprimanded her as he hugged her, simultaneously affectionate and scolding. Sweet, gentle, tolerant Kid had simply gathered her into his arms, his soul wavelength empathetic and ever-steady, as they had learned to Resonate together recently, without their weapons. Maka knew he had pushed his own fears, doubts, worries out if his soul for a time, just so he could comfort her.

Her hand squeezed the fibers of Soul's hair, no longer frozen in marble, she decided. There lie the difference between surrogate brother and lover. Soul would not go to such lengths, simply to comfort her. Kid always would, despite what it cost him. It was this selflessness that moved her to love Kid, in a way she could not love Soul or any other boy. Her shinigami (and yes, he was all _hers_, her death god, her immortal) had been trained to have this devotion; his race and future profession demanded it. Yes, there was a huge difference between her boyfriend and her partner. Her hand had become animated again, no longer preserved in some sort of stone, so she was able to withdraw it from the depths of her weapon's hair.

She decided she would rather preserve her hand in Kid's hair, instead.

"_Beneath the cold sun,  
watching you walk away.  
Where my terror runs  
in rivers so decayed."_

_I am terrified  
of loss._

_I cannot function  
if I were to lose  
the people I love._

_Liz.  
Patti.  
Chichiue.  
Maka._

_And yet it will  
someday be my job  
to take their souls._

_I will watch them die,  
severing their spiritual force  
from the corpus._

_I am God.  
I can do anything I want.  
The fate of Humanity is  
at my whim._

_Yet being God  
makes me feel  
helpless._

_(But shinigami aren't allowed to cry. At least that's what the rules say. Right?)_

**Selfish**

"_Humans are fascinating and riveting creatures. But, ultimately, they expire. They start wars with each other, they destroy whole cities. They create art and change the world. They are a very ugly and beautiful race, and it is not wise to attach yourself to them. They will age and die. You will not. Be careful, Kid-kun. Remember, you're not human."_

The words of his father (it was well-given advice, despite the depressing theme) wouldn't stop repeating themselves, over and over again, in Kid's head. The advice his Chichiue had given him when he had first brought home Liz and Patti. ". . . _it is not wise to attach yourself to them."_ He and his two weapons were outside Soul's hospital room, sitting against the wall on the floor; he in the middle, Liz to his left and Patti to his right. Kid looked up at his taller weapon as she read the magazine in her lap, slender swan neck curving forward and bright sky-blue eyes half-closed, as she fought off sleep's embrace. Kid sighed, barely audible. ". . . _it is not wise to attach yourself to them." _ Too late. It tugged at his heart, the way his demon gun struggled to fight off fatigue, her face languid with exhaustion, her sandy-blonde hair lank and in need of washing. All for Kid, because Liz knew he needed her, to be the big sister, or mother, he never had. And Patti sat to his left, fallen asleep long ago against his side, her body pressing into his, one arm resting across his lap, entwined around his waist (the arm he had thrown lovingly around her shoulders had gone numb, as it was pressed between her back and the wall), her head lolling on his shoulder, yellow-blonde hair tickling his neck, as she snored gently in his ear. Sweet, innocent Patti, his surrogate, childish, elder sister, his cheer and joy, always ready to show him the smallest, most beautiful wonders. She showed everyone these little things, but she always saved the best ones for him. His weapons, his big sisters, were both there to comfort him, berate him, love him.

The young shinigami had upset and angered (all his fault) his two best friends in the whole world and surrogate siblings. He had brought tears (all his fault) to his girlfriend's eyes. By his hand, one of his best friends (all his fault) had almost died. It was all his fault. It was _all his fault._ All. His. Fault. Everyone had forgiven him, everyone had said they understand. For every mistake he made, and he always seemed to make _a lot_, they always said they understood. But the goddamn hardest part was always forgiving himself. It was all his fault. It repeats itself, always, over and over in his head, along with his father's words, ". . . _it is not wise to attach yourself to them."_ The lot of a shinigami. Loneliness, denial of oneself, closure of heart. Destined to live forever, charged to collect the souls of every living thing that dies; Shinigami was God. Most might say Kid had great freedom in his supernatural power, dominance over who lived and who died. He possessed the ultimate command every person desired—warden over human mortality. But he only saw the chains, shackling him to an eternal, earthly life, living for no one but the dead. It was and always will be the obligation of his race. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Soul, one of his closest friends, lying weak and vulnerable and fragile in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IV's to help him function, hovered over and watched diligently by his worried partner. And it was all Kid's fault. Everything was _always_ his fault! What did you do when the weight of the world pushed down on your shoulders, and it only made your mistakes feel bigger?

Someone nudged him on the shoulder, "You okay?" Liz peered wearily at his face, concerned.

Kid bit his lip, and nodded. No use letting them worry, it was something he would have to deal with himself. He allowed his teeth to sink into the soft flesh, as he continued his train of thought. Chichiue had always warned him that he was walking down the wrong path, letting himself in—

"You're not okay."

Kid was pulled once again from his line of struggle by his partner's voice. He tasted iron and smelled salt, and realized his teeth were now drawing his own blood, "Oh." He pulled the enamel from his flesh, and licked the blood from his mouth, grimacing as he swallowed the bitter concoction. He felt at his lip, noting that it was swelling. Kid always bit his lip (a trait he had inherited from his human mother, Chichiue always said) too hard when he was anxious, it was a habit Liz was trying to get him out of.

"What's wrong?"

"Soul. Just anxious about him." Kid lied, a little too quickly.

She ruffled his hair, tired eyes scrutinizing his face, "He'll be fine. Something else is bugging you."

"No, it's not." He incited stubbornly.

"You suck at lying to me."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No."

"Yeah."

"No."

"What's wrong, Kid?"

"It's _nothing._" He was getting irritated, now.

"But it _is _something. Your wavelength has been everywhere all night." She combed her fingers through his soft, feathery hair, adjusting his bangs, "I need you to tell me. Now." Kid sighed and looked away. Liz was using her you-better-tell-me-now-or-I'll-make-you-regret-it voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying her soothing touch on his head, then opened them again. He turned back to face her.

"Sometimes, I just wonder. Who's _stupid _idea was it to create the race of Shinigami?"

"What do you mean?"

He quoted his father, "'_Be careful, Kid-kun. Remember, you're not human._' Why are things this way? '_Shinigami are beings with immortal bodies and human hearts, given warden over Death, because we _are _Death.'_ It's what Chichiue always told me. Shinigami are not supposed to become caught up in human affairs or attachments."

Liz nodded, understanding. Her hand moved from his head to his heart, clutching at his shirt, "Do all shinigami have hearts like yours?"

"Hearts that are normal, that have feelings and attachments? Yes. Even Chichiue. But he hides it, very well."

She leaned against him, wrapping her arms around her partner in a hug, "Are you saying you've become too human?"

He hugged her back, and they leaned against each other, "Yeah, I probably have. But, shinigami are human to begin with. Most deny themselves any close relationships."

She gave him a soft, motherly kiss on the forehead, "I'm glad you didn't."

"Me, too."

"Your father would call you selfish."

"I know. Humans are only temporary, he says. '. . . _it is not wise to attach yourself to them._' My duties as a shinigami are more important than my own emotions."

"Yet you're sitting here, outside Soul's hospital room, where your girlfriend sits, hugging me, and letting Patti sleep on your shoulder."

"Yeah."

"Touché." She kissed him again on the head, "I love you, little brother."

"I love you, too."

"That's bad."

"I know."

"You don't care?"

"Not right now. I really am selfish. This is all my fault."

"Maka will kick your ass if she hears you saying that."

Kid nodded, "Yeah. I wonder how she's doing. Can I get up?"

"Yeah." Liz released him, and quietly moved to Patti's other side. Kid gently disengaged himself from his other surrogate sister, and gently laid her against Liz. The girl stirred slightly, muttering something ("Die . . . yoush . . . mosherfuckersh . . .") in her dream. He paused at the door and studied his two weapons. Liz laid her head over Patti's, allowing herself to sleep now that Kid was going to Maka for comfort.

He loved them so, "They're both so precious to me . . ." He whispered. Maybe to himself. Maybe as a plead to God. Maybe both.

All he knew was, he wished more than _anything _he could give up his shinigami blood, and, most of all, his immortality. For Maka. For his weapons. For himself.

Nothing, not his father, nor even God, could stop Death's heart from being human.

"_I am invisible . . .  
I'm in this room for days . . .  
Teeth on every wall . . .  
That never go away._

_I'm made of blades and flame . . .  
I'm sick and dangerous . . .  
you're my favorite prey  
'cause I hurt the ones I love."_

_I often find myself  
invisible  
in Chichiue's eyes._

_My emotions,  
my pain,  
my heart._

_All are sacrificed  
for the sake of  
duty._

_I can hear the darkness  
whispering to me.  
Morbidity,  
pain,  
destruction._

_They say all are  
Death's friend,  
and I can hear it  
calling  
to me._

_It never stops.  
I wish I could  
make it stop.  
Make it  
STOP!_

_(But it never stops, because shinigami aren't allowed to cry.)_

**Starcrossed**

It was decided upon that Maka would sleep at Kid's house that night. She could not (and Kid could see the fear, pain, horror that sexual abuse left creeping up on her) handle the loneliness of coming home to a dark apartment devoid of Soul. What was once home seems empty when something of the essential is missing. So, this was how she had landed herself in a stark black-and-white hallway, staring into a symmetrical, vast guestroom that Kid was asking her to spend the long, dark night alone with the nightmares she knew she might have. What did he not get about company?

Maka turned to him, ready to be surly, "I want to sleep with _you_."

He coughed on the sentence he was halfway through and stared, "_What?_"

She felt her face heat up; that _did not_ come out right, "I—I mean, not sleep, _sleep_ with you . . . I mean . . . . Uuuhhh . . ."

"You want to sleep next to me, but you don't want to have sex?" He laid out before her what she could not admit, the ever-dependable, logical Kid.

"Yeah."

He nodded, and they walked further along the hall, up a set of beautifully carved, white spiraling stairs (they were the most asymmetrical thing Kid would allow in the house), and to the door of his room. It was much warmer and friendlier than the plain hallways. It kept to the stark black-and-white color theme the rest of the house was dedicated to. But, Liz and Patti would not have a partner, nor would Maka have a boyfriend, with a dull bedroom. So, they had conspired for and against him, and he had finally been swayed to agree to earth-toned accents. It had been a long fight, Kid was normally adverse to change, a trait he had inherited from his centuries-old father. Deep reds, earthy greens and browns, golden yellows. The colors suited him well, and they all complied with his narcotic expectations of symmetry. Maka smiled at him, and sat down on the red-and-black banded bed. The comforter was from their recent redecoration, it still smelled of _new_ and industry, mixed together in a strange, foreign odor that was sharp and slightly pained, synthetic and plastic. It was beginning to take on a slight smell of Kid, fresh and earthy, like the green smell of grass and the sharp, fresh, wash-out of rain. He sat down next to her, and his clean, bitter scent filled her nose, much better than the traces left on his bed. She leaned against him, and burrowed her face in his dress-shirt, inhaling her fix of Kid.

His arm went automatically around her, pulling her closer, if that were possible, "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She addressed his shirt, face shoved into the crevice between his shoulder and his neck.

His soft lips brushed against her ear, "That's good." Maka nodded into his neck. The young shinigami sighed and shifted his position against the pillows resting against the headboard, so that they were both more comfortable. Maka stared at a pillow. It was red, black, and yellow stripes, slightly off on one side, which Kid had failed to notice thanks to Liz's constant poundings for his symmetry fits. She was determined to make herself forget the events of their imprisonment. No, not forget. Face them. Terrien had done nothing to her that she and Kid hadn't already done. Her assaulter had kissed her and touched her breasts, nothing more. She and Kid had messed around plenty of times, flirting and touching and kissing, being young, inexperienced fifteen-year-olds. They were just now discovering (it was something every young person did, right?) their sexual gifts. So, why did it feel so frightening, so _wrong_, with Terrien? Hadn't it been the basic same thing, only she had been unwilling? That was just it. She had been unwilling. She did not love Terrien. She loved Kid. Her shinigami would never push her; _force_ her to lie with him. But Terrien would. That had been his intention. She shuddered at the thought.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not!"

He drew back from her, but she stared instead at his black jeans. A soft, silky finger gently caressed her chin, pressing it firmly upward so she had to look at him. She stared over the top of his head, determined not to make eye contact, for then was always the point he could truly tell whether she was lying or not. He adjusted her face so that their eyes connected, and Maka found herself (dammit, why did he always win?) lost among lakes of bleeding ochre. His yellow-gold eyes enveloped her, immeasurably soft and tender, "Are you okay?"

"No . . ." She admitted. Damn those beautiful eyes of his!

"What's wrong?"

"I would rather not talk about it." Attempted rape was not exactly a subject one enjoyed discussing with their boyfriend. He sighed, a soft rise and fall of an ocean wave, exhaling the bittersweet taste of him she loved so much. She then leaned in for a taste of more. His lips and tongue were always impeccably soft, and carried the strong sugary-bitter taste that she had come to think was like his signature, the flavor of himself he always left in her mouth, and perhaps wherever else his lips or tongue touched her body. It was scintillating and addicting, as was everything about him. Kid was her drug, while other teenagers did pot or smoked cigarettes. The thought made her laugh, and it bubbled out of her lungs, breaking apart the kiss.

"What's so funny?"

"My addiction to you."

"That's unhealthy, you know."

"Oh, like you're not as fixated as I am!" It felt good to force out this sarcasm, to hide the fear and pain from herself.

"Touché, my darling. I can't stop." He sounded slightly sarcastic and looked absolutely endearing as he said it. He leaned forward to kiss her. She rested her hand on a pillow to support herself, and found her knuckles clashing with something hard, "Ow." She leaned back and identified what exactly had violated this most tender of their shared moments. A book. She pulled the thin volume from the crevice between pillows it had been occupying, and read the cover.

"You like Shakespeare?"

"Yeah. Love him. I've never read _Romeo and Juliet_ until now, though. Didn't have the time before."

"I love this play. I cried for _hours_ after I finished it."

He sat back on his heels, and regarded her with mild surprise and something like awe, "You really are a rare one." She could see her shinigami thinking and asking himself. How many people? How many people could be lucky enough to admit that Shakespeare made them cry? Not many understood the archaic words, or roundabout phrasing. Even fewer were able to find the emotion in the words, regarding it as nothing more than pretty-sounding poetry. Yes, indeed, Maka is a rare one. She could see Kid thinking it all, as though she was staring into his mind or he were telling her.

Maka loved all the grand masters (how many times had she longed to have such prowess over language?), those beautiful, rare people who wove art with their words. Writers. Vulnerably prone to beauty and bouts of mild madness, the eccentrics who always spoke to themselves and found whole worlds in the most microscopic of things. She loved them all. Not just Shakespeare, but also Virginia Woolf, Stephen King, Dante Alighieri, Jane Austen, Bram Stoker, Virgil, Stephen King, Michael Cunningham (he was not as well known, but he was _brilliant_), Homer, Charles Dickens, J.K. Rowling, Mark Twain. Their stories had moved her to places she would have never thought of accessing, made her laugh out loud in sheer joy for life's small gifts, weep for a long time over the world's cruelty, both reflected and explored in these books.

Maka returned her attention to Kid, and asked him the next obvious question, "Have you memorized any lines? I know about . . . half the play?"

He smiled, and reached out a hand. She took it, and he pulled her towards him, wrapping her in his arms. He gently moved aside her hair (she had let it down out of its pigtails for comfort), and breathed into her ear, "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!/ It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night /Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;/ Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!/ So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,/ As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows." He whispered it ever-so-soft, and it sent shudders of pleasure up and down her spine, the way he whispered it to her, almost like the wind. Had they been outside, she might have mistaken the soft hiss of his voice as a passing breeze. It was like he was telling her some forbidden secret, hushed and special just for them. He chuckled softly, and kissed her gently on her ear, "What lines do you know?"

"A lot. Like I said, half the play."

He disengaged himself from her, and moved across the bed, "Okay. I think I'll test you, then." He had that look on his face (it was a stupid, silly little grin, ridiculous and endearing, his I-dare-you smile) that always told her he felt like playing a game, experimenting, having fun.

"Test me? Like a quiz?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

He smirked, and began to recite, "If I profane with my unworthiest hand/This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:" Kid gently laid his hand along the side of her face, and leaned forward, gazing down at her sweetly with his huge, irresistible yellow eyes, criss-crossed by his black bangs, "My lips, two blushing pilgrims," His voice grew richer and fuller at this point, as though he were throwing himself into the role, "ready stand/ To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." His voice was many-layered (she had to remind herself to breathe) and hypnotic, beating to the iambic pentameter, the heartbeat of Shakespeare's work.

Maka dredged the correct response from somewhere within her rapidly-now-melting brain, and pushed the words towards Kid, "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,  
/Which mannerly devotion shows in this;" Maka found his free hand and laced her fingers through his, "For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,/ And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." Their faces were now inches apart, lips barely touching. She closed the last of the gap between them, and she heard him exhale as their tongues brushed against and around each other, soft and slick and slow. His bittersweet flavor burst in her mouth, exciting her further. He drew back, slowly, and brushed her lips with his thumb, "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."

Her shinigami smiled again, that small mischievous one, and his hands moved to her hips and began to toy with the hem of her dress shirt, "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;" His hands slid under the cloth, and up over her breasts. He leaned forward and kissed her again, and she sighed and moaned as his hands caressed her body. He was being much gentler than normal, as her body was still covered in bruises from—no, didn't want to think about that right now. He broke the kiss, but his hands remained, "They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake." Maka was struggling to get the words out, now, as his skilled fingers on her chest sent her spinning and searching for air. He could make her melt through his hands, rendering her brain to mush.

He pushed her back on the bed, and straddled her, his face hovering over hers, "Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take." He leaned forward again, so that his silky lips just barely brushed against hers, whispering his line slow and sweet and just oh-so-_sexy_, "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."

She leaned forward, straining for a kiss, but he held her down, chuckling softly. She knew she had to answer properly, first, "Then have my lips the sin that they have took." He pressed his lips against hers once again, opened his mouth. She let him in, and moaned as his hands ran more firmly over her body, his fingers raising trails of heat on her skin. He intensified the kiss, digging deeper and moving faster, as their breaths deepened in arousal. He drew back again, and his fair-skinned face was beginning to flush a healthy pink, "Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! /Give me my sin again." His words came out (she wondered, how much farther was this going to go?) as a moan, and Maka pulled him back down again, happy to comply with his invitation to once again give him his sin. He kissed her again, sweet and hot, then kissed down her neck, sending shudders once again up her spine. His lips were so soft, so gentle.

She breathed out the last line as he stopped at a spot on her neck and began to suck, probably intending to leave a mark, "You kiss by the book." The line was whispered more to herself than Kid, as he was intent on creating a hickey on her skin. She giggled as his tongue flicked against her neck, tickling her. He leaned back to check his handiwork. He seemed to be satisfied, because he switched to the other side and began to suck. Kid always left two marks, one for each side, so that Maka would be symmetrical, always. His hands continued to wander over her body (they seemed to be getting ever-lower), he seemed determined to discover every little crevice and curve that made up the construction of her frame. She moaned as his hand descended down, down, the farthest he's ever gone. She squeezed her legs together, holding his hand there, and he chuckled softly, and wriggled his fingers harder. She relaxed as he pleasured her and she emitted an ecstatic moan, and he laughed again, leaning back from her neck, and (much to her disappointment) pulling his hand away. He kissed her tenderly on top of the head, and slowly got off of her. She sat up, and stared at herself in the mirror he had hanging next to his desk. Two bright red, circular marks stood out on either side against the pale skin of her neck, halfway down, and her hair was all messed up, and her clothes were loose and untucked, from having Kid dig into them.

"My God! If Papa sees this, he's gonna kill you!"

Kid laughed again, and threw a casual arm around her, "Chichiue would kill him first."

"What would Papa say if he knew what his boss's son was doing to his daughter?"

"Probably would freak out. But there's really nothing he could do . . ."

"Yeah . . ."

"It seems like if that happened, we might end up like Romeo and Juliet." He stated flippantly.

"Don't say that! They die."

"Yeah. I know." He began (apparently, he had already memorized a lot) to recite the prologue, "Two households, both alike in dignity,/ In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,/ From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,/ Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean./ From forth the fatal loins of these two foes/ A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life . . ." He paused, "A pair of star-cross'd lovers . . . Maka . . ." She looked up at him, losing herself once again in gold, "Do you think we're starcrossed?"

For some reason, the question really scared her, caught her completely off-guard. It jilted her, shook away the defense around her heart. She knew this was illogical; it was just a simple question. "Starcrossed" meant fated, meant-to-be, together forever. She should have found the concept romantic (but for some reason, she had difficulty believing in romance like that, maybe from her father?), but she couldn't help but associate it with a negative connotation. One that resulted inevitably with death. The idea of applying it to herself and Kid terrified her. The way he asked it had been scary; his face had darkened, black brows furrowing his smooth forehead jagged, his mouth tightening and curling down in a frown. What shocked her the most was his eyes, the normally bright, rich shade of ochre had dulled, fading out to dusty fake-gold pale. She found her grip at his waist tightening, curling around the white cotton of his loose, breezy dress-shirt.

Maka knew every intimately close relationship had two hearts. One light; that which people saw on the surface, the acknowledged feelings that existed between herself and whomever she was investing her heart in. And the dark; the (mostly) unspoken, black thing, the holdup (the black heart between herself and Soul was the thick, midnight liquid running in their veins, binding them to be black-blood brother and sister), that could strengthen or destroy every relationship. She knew Kid's question, about the possibility of a starcrossed fate for them, was revealing IT, the night-hack-_hell_ that could creep up and asphyxiate their hearts. It sometimes pounded in her nightmarish guillotine dreams, the kind that Soul always knew, and he would always come to comfort her, the kind that woke her up to sweating and shivers. A black, developing _something_ she refused to acknowledge, because she knew herself and Kid may not survive it. She knew it was something that was bothering him, there had been hints. His small, sad smile when she talked of the future they just might _have_ together, the way he watched his weapons from afar, as though he were lost or missing something, and didn't know quite know how to recover it, the soft, secret-and-sweet kisses he would catch her with in the hallway between classes, as though that were the only chance he had to kiss her. It all disturbed her greatly.

"Maka?"

She found herself rushing back at mental-mach five as Kid nudged her shoulder. That's right, he was waiting for an answer, "Are you okay? Are you gonna answer me?"

She sighed, and turned to study his face—he was now peering at her in concern (it was so familiar and endearing, she sighed with relief), yellow eyes examining her face for some sign that she was "all-there" as the saying goes. She contrived an answer, pulling it from among her dark thoughts, and from the thin air, and chucked the words at him, so they struck him right on the face.

"If we were starcrossed, I don't think we would have survived Terrien."

"_You're so lovely when you cry.  
You're so perfect when you lie.  
You can be my crucifix,  
hold me up to watch me die._

_Can't you see?  
I'm invisible . . ."_

_Reading between  
the lines_

_and_

_watching the  
subtleties._

_I can see mortals  
flinch  
when they're around me._

_Sometimes._

_They know  
Death's presence,  
it's sheer instinct._

_They fear me.  
They're repulsed by me._

_That sickly, dank smell._

_The foreboding presence  
of what's unknown._

_The goosebumps raised  
on the skin  
when they realize what  
I am._

_But._

_I have never seen  
any of my friends  
flinch._

_Not once._

_(Yet, every other living thing flees before me still. But that's right, shinigami aren't allowed to cry.)_

**Sleepover**

Maka and Kid were invited by an over-enthusiastic Patti and a resigned-looking Liz to join them in the upstairs living room. They wanted to have (well, it was really Patti's idea) a slumber party. Kid sat on the couch, arm around Maka, and watched as his weapons broke out the essentials. Liz tottered in under two huge, precariously perched bowls of popcorn, a bag of Munchies, and a crate of blue-flavored Monster. Patti followed, stack of VHS's and DVD's in arm, everything of their favorites, from _The Little Mermaid_ to_ Monty Python and The Holy Grail _ to _Push_. Liz and Patti both dumped their items on the coffee table, and began to arrange everything symmetrically. Kid had hammered it into them, well. Liz stood back and admired her handiwork, then looked up at Kid and Maka. Her eyes went wide, "Kid! What were you and Maka doing?"

"What are you talking about?"

Next to him, Maka shoved her hands to either side of her neck, and blushed. Kid felt his face heat, "Oh. That." Liz fixed him with a stern elder-sister look, which made Kid fidget uncomfortably, "Uuuummm . . . we were discussing Shakespeare?"

"It's nothing, Liz. Really." Maka insisted, "Anything he does to me, he makes sure I'm okay with it, first."

Liz sighed and folded her arms, "But you two are so young . . ."

"We're almost sixteen, Liz." Kid cut in.

"Just be careful. And use a condom!"

Kid's entire face and neck turned red-hot, and in his peripheral vision, he could see Maka turning twice the shade of red she was before, "We haven't gone that far yet. Now, can we _please_ move on?" Kid requested of his weapon, fidgeting again. This was _so_ awkward.

"Yeah."

Patti leaped up from arranging the movies, "Okay~! What should we watch, guys?"

"I think Kiddo should pick, first." Liz smiled at her meister and gestured to the selections.

"Okay." Kid disengaged himself from Maka and got up. He stared down at the various, colorful covers, found that a few were irritatingly out of place, so he fixed them. He sighed and looked at each, alabaster hand running over each title. He stopped at an unmarked VHS. It looked like one of those tapes on which one made recordings, "What's this?"

Patti leaned over and picked it up, "Ooohhhh, I just found it with the other stuff, and was wondering what it was." She held it out to him, and he took it, "D'you wanna see what it is, Kiddo?"

"Sure." He turned to the DVD/VHS player above the television, and pressed a few buttons, set the TV right, and popped in the mystery video. Kid sat down in front of the coffee table (Maka slid down next to Liz and handed out the Monsters) between his weapons. The VHS part of the device clicked and whirred as it processed the analog technology of film, and the screen went black and slightly fuzzy for a moment, as analog tapes do. An image of Kid's downstairs living room appeared; and he leaned forward, intrigued. What was this? A toddler sat in the middle of the floor, playing with a stack of blocks. The young shinigami's eyes widened as he stared at his toddler self. This was a home movie! He knew of only one, but this wasn't it. Apparently, one more existed. The little boy on the television was busy arranging his blocks symmetrically; he looked just like his fifteen-year-old counterpart, with an exception. The toddler shinigami had only one ivory Sanzu line streaking the jet-black of his hair, along the top, showing the level of development Kid's powers had achieved at the time. But, other than that, the child possessed Kid's same huge, golden eyes (they actually looked bigger, as he was younger) and pale china-skin.

Maka smiled, "Kid! You are so _cute_!"

Kid smiled at her, and returned his attention to the screen as he heard his father's voice, "Kid-kun . . . Oh, Kid-Kuuuunn!" Chichiue was attempting to grab toddler-Kid's attention. The child stared up at the camera, "Chichiue! I'm twying to awange these pwecisely and symmetwically!" The baby shinigami's voice was a pure soprano, high and sweet and young, unlike Kid's warm, funeral-bell baritone he possessed, now.

"OHMYGOSH!! Kid! You're SO _CUUUUTE_!!" Kid found himself smothered by three female bodies and his eardrums blown out by three sets of squealing, shrill voices. He covered his ears and tried not to be smothered (well, actually, he would quite enjoy it if it were Maka) in anyone's breasts. He giggled as Maka kissed him on the lips, Liz on top of his head, Patti on his cheek. His three favorite girls all snuggled around him as they returned to watching the video, among choruses of, "Awwwww!" He smiled; he knew he was their favorite one and only shinigami. Maka's sweet guy, and the adopted little brother of the Thompsons. He looked up again at the sound of his father's voice, "Kid-kun, what day is it today?"

"My bahthday!" Fifteen-year-old Kid chuckled; he obviously couldn't pronounce his R's, then.

"How old are you turning?"

The toddler held up four stubby fingers, "Foah!" Kid and his friends all laughed, this time. The sound of an unfamiliar woman's voice made them pause and look up. A beautiful young woman appeared onscreen and sat down next to Kid, and began to help arrange the blocks, "Hey, Honey-angel! What'chya doin'?" She bent down to the child's level, crinkling her delicate nose in amusement. Child-Kid gestured proudly to the blocks, "Ohganizing! It's symmetwical!" Teenage Kid narrowed his eyes, and leaned forward farther, longing to move closer to the screen, as the woman talked to his four-year-old self, her soft alto voice soothing. He stared at the woman's jet-black hair, the same inky shade as his own, and her violet exotically slanted eyes, huge and pointed upward at the outer corner, just like his own. Her facial structure was his; the oval-shaped face, the sculpted cheekbones, same straight, refined nose, same pointed chin. Even her smile shared that same, slight gap he had on either side of his front four teeth, between the second incisors on both sides and the canines. It made him tap his own teeth in wonder. He found himself sliding from between the arms of his friends and scooting forward, pressing his hands against the tingly, staticy screen, watching the woman hungrily. His mother.

He found that his hands were running over the image of her face, as though if he tried hard enough, he could feel her real skin through the thick glass. Behind him the three girls had fallen silent as they watched him. What a strange place to notice this detail. He closed his eyes again as his mother's voice slid over his ears, "That looks nice, Honey-angel." He remembered that nickname, hazily and vaguely, lost among his golden dreams (these were rare, dreams about his mom) of childhood. He was startled to find (what was it about a simple video that could make him feel this way?) that his throat was tensed by a huge lump. He knew he wouldn't be able to speak right now if asked to. The shinigami watched as his mother gathered her son into her arms, and rocked him back and forth, singing a quiet song to him. He remembered this lullaby, too, just a simple little "hush little baby," sung to him every night after his bedtime story. It made his heart ache, hearing it again in this voice. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and looked round to see Maka sitting down beside him. She slid her arms around him, embracing his waist. He hugged her back as Liz sat on his other side, and Patti began to trace random, invisible letters and drawings with her finger on his back from behind. The video ran out, the screen went black, and Kid found himself feeling emptier than when the video started.

"Do—do you have any memories of your mom?" Liz's voice cut across the silence, brave and raspy, seemed much too loud and big for the room. Though Kid remembered his mother's voice, and the song she used to sing, and the routine (mostly because Chichiue told him) he had as a toddler, he only had one, very precious, very brief, real, living memory of his Mama. He was four again. She was sitting next to him on a park bench, smiling over at him as she licked the bright-Chocolate-Mint-green drops off an ice cream cone. Kid remembered her enormous, beautiful sunhat , with the pale-gold straw and sunny-orange sunflower stuck among a tangle of ivy. It was like an exotic creature to him, surreal and strange. He also tasted sweet, tangy strawberry-and-rainbow—that's right, it had been a strawberry ice cream cup (he was still too young for a cone) with colorful sprinkles over it. She reached over and tugged at his arm, "Hey, Honey-angel, you know I love you, right?" She asked that question all the time, of both himself and his father. He answered her, "Yes, Mama." He never had told anyone of this memory, not even his weapons. It was one of those precious few things he told no one. She had abandoned him and his father six months after he turned four. Packed up and left after a bad fight between his parents. All because his father was immortal. So, it came, full-circle.

"Kid?"

The young shinigami snapped back to reality and looked at his weapon, "What?"

"Are you okay? Are you going to answer my question?"

"Oh. Memories?" A sunny day at the park, the taste of cold ice cream, "No. I have no memories of her. I was too young to remember anything."

Patti rested her chin on his shoulder, gazing up at his face, "Is Kiddo okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Maka suddenly grinned, "Well, then." She shoved her fingers into Kid's ribs, "TICKLE FIGHT!"

Kid gasped and tried to defend himself as he was attacked on three sides by tickle assaults. The three girls managed to reduce the tough male meister to a giggling ball of mush on the floor, laughing as they tickled him into oblivion. Kid finally escaped them (somehow or another, he wasn't quite sure how) and ran around the coffee table, grabbing a can of Monster as he passed. He listened to the soft _shlick_ as he popped the tab, and the snake-hiss of carbonation. The three girls approached him , eyeing him with sadistic grins. Clearly, this had turned into a tickle-battle of the sexes. He had his own ridiculously huge smile plastered to his face, as he brandished the Monster at them, "I have a can of Monster and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Maka scoffed, "What're you gonna do, drink us to death?"

"I can pour it on anyone who gets too clo-ose." He waved the can in her face as she took another step closer, "Sticky, sticky!"

"You _wouldn't_! It would ruin my hair, I'd have to wash it again!"

He shrugged and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "Hey, if gets you naked and in my shower . . ."

"Men are such _pigs_ . . ." Maka started.

"I'm only kidding, darling."

"Okay, yeah right!"

Kid now found himself backed up against the wall, holding his weapon of choice (yes, Monster could be used as a weapon) at arm's length, surrounded on three sides by enemies. Shit, what was he gonna do, now? He bit his lip and held the can out as far as he could as the three girls approached. Liz snatched it from him, and Maka jumped on him. He grabbed Maka around the waist, "Oh, no you don't!" And she squealed as he tickled her back, giggling madly. She finally managed to escape him, holding her hands up in surrender as he chased her, "I give up! Truce! TRUCE!"

Kid smiled and pulled Maka into his arms. He kissed her softly, savoring her sweet vanilla taste. He sighed longingly.

Why couldn't things stay this way forever?

"_Beneath the Pagan moon  
one more prey dies today.  
On sheets of flesh and doom,  
shivering in endless shade like criminals . . .  
_

_The stain still remains,  
and I promise you, it never goes away."_

_I cannot erase  
the memories  
of every Reap I  
execute._

_Though,  
I dearly wish  
I could._

_Mothers,  
lovers,  
best friends,  
children_

_beg me  
as I pull their _

_half-dead  
child,  
fiancé,  
parent,  
best friend,_

_From the tangled carnage of a  
car accident,  
fire,  
hospital bed,  
disaster_

_breathing their last._

_The survivors scream  
and cry  
and shake  
and beg._

_Always asking me  
to save their  
child,  
fiancé,  
parent,  
best friend._

_The screams  
falling against my ears  
wake me up at night,_

_and I cry in  
the early hours  
of the morning._

_(But I was always told, shinigami aren't allowed to cry.)_

**Horrify**

Maka screamed and kicked at Terrien. No, no, NONONO_NONONO!! MAKE IT STOP!_ She screamed again, tearing at his hands as they squeezed her breasts. Her tears soaked over his lips, pressed to hers, and his disgusting tongue (the taste of acid burned into her tongue, biting, violating) wriggled in her mouth. One of his hands descended below her waist, reaching around her buttock and under her skirt. She scrabbled at his hand, but to no avail, and she felt his fingers slide inside her, roughly jamming up against the walls of her flesh. Kid had done this to her earlier, but it had been so much more pleasant, that time. She screamed again, crying. No, this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this can't be happening. Stop, _stop, _STOP! Even as she thought this, she felt hot blood trickle down her leg, pain burning inside herself, Terrien ripping apart her flesh, scratching, digging. She cried out. No, no, no_nonononoNONONO! STTOOOPP!!_

Maka awakened with a sharp, soaring, lucid gasp, drowning in bed sheets, body soaked in sweat. She oriented herself; here was the pillow, the sheets were tangled around her legs, and the dark form beside her that was Kid. It was enough to calm her down, and she realized it had been just a nightmare. A bad dream, nothing more. So there was nothing to be afraid of, right? Nothing could hurt her, right? But the dream had been so horribly, dreadfully _real._ She shuddered, and hugged herself, squeezing her legs together. She was relieved to find that her pelvis did not ache (but she could still feel it, imagined it, the pain shooting across her abdomen and down her thighs) with torn skin, nor was there anything hot, sticky and thick clinging to her legs. But all she could see was Terrien; face looming from the darkness, his hands on her body, his fingers digging inside her being. She shivered again, and closed her eyes. She saw Terrien's face, but tried her best to focus on Kid's gentle snores. He did not really snore—nothing grinding or loud—he simply sounded like he was breathing through a stuffy nose. The soft, slightly serrated sighs (the sounds reminded her of ocean waves or the wind, rhythmic and hypnotically calming) were comforting to listen to. She slowly relaxed, and opened her eyes. Terrien's face floated before her. She jumped, and reached a hand to her right and softly placed a hand on Kid's head. The young shinigami was an unusually light sleeper, and the smallest touch could wake him. A sharp intake of breath told her he had woken, and she heard him shift, saw the black, inky pool that mapped his mass in the darkness stir. He slowly opened his eyes, the soft yellow glow of the reflective cells behind his irises throwing what little light that was in the room back out. She watched those cat-like eyes as he turned to face her, "What, darling?" He whispered.

"I—I had a nightmare." She shivered, "About T—T—Te—Terrien." She heard him move again, and watched as his silhouette became more visible and refined as he sat up, the delicate outline of his profile visible against the window behind him. He leaned over, arms reaching for her. She leaned into him, taking comfort in the familiar contours of his well-muscled body, and inhaled his ever-lovely smell of rain and earth. He kissed her softly on the cheek, silky lips brushing over her cheekbone, moving to her lips. She kissed him back softly, and his lips moved underneath hers as he spoke, "He can't hurt you now. I'm here." Maka drew back, and softly ran her hands through his feathery, floaty ebony-spun hair, "I know. But—but—" Maka's eyes filled with tears of terror (they just came without warning, and she suddenly was horrified, again) and she began to shake uncontrollably. Kid's arms tightened around her, "It's okay, Maka. He can't hurt you." He nuzzled her neck, his nose squishing down against her jawline, soft lips pressed to her tendon, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It's my entire fault."

His voice shook with emotion, and she could tell—he was scared, too. He was horrified by what he had witnessed as Terrien assaulted her. Maka shook her head against his shoulder, "No, it's not your fault. You were helpless, you couldn't do anything. And you did, once you were released. Once we escaped." She felt him draw back, and his yellow eyes drilled into hers, the bright gold almost blinding her in the darkness, "But I almost killed your best friend . . ." Maka shrugged, a gesture she knew he would feel, as his hands gripped her arms, ever-so-gently, "You had no choice." She whispered. She shook her head, "If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have been shot." She stared at the bedspread, black-and-gray-and-white, all its color sponged by the darkness, "If I hadn't let myself be taken again." Her voice grew huskier with tears, pure first soprano dropping an octave to second, "I should have paid more attention from the beginning. I should have said something—had us do a scan before going in that room." It was true—soul scramblers were much more easily detected from afar, than from when one was within its frequency. If they had Perceived the room before they entered it, the two meisters would have more likely picked up the signal. And it had been her responsibility to pay attention to those things, as the team member with the best Perception. Maka's eyes were flooded with tears, now, the hot, salty liquid pouring down her face. She felt Kid's hands press into her cheekbones, the thick part of his palms wiping away the tears, "It is not your fault." His strong baritone rumbled against her body, as the soundwaves reverberated inside his chest cavity, "Don't you _dare _blame yourself. I'm the one who messed up, I failed to notice the suspicious cues, and it was _my_ responsibility as a shinigami to keep you, Soul, and the Thompsons safe. I failed you all, as well as my father." He sounded exceedingly disappointed in himself, disgusted.

Maka closed her eyes and leaned against him, her forehead resting against his lips, and she felt his mouth lift in a reflexive kiss. She closed her eyes, expanded her wavelength. The soft, fluttery little wings (Kid had once said she was his angel) of her grigori soul brushed against his much larger, more powerful, shinigami one. He was a vast force, large and strange and foreign—the soul of a God of Death. But it also whispered with humanity, bubbling with emotion like a normal human soul. Right now, he was exceedingly guilty, laced with slight anger towards Terrien. But most of all was fear; sheer, raw, unbridled, and it drowned in volumes that matched her own. This was somehow comforting, and she found herself calming down, her sobs quieting in his strange-but-not-strange presence. He drew back and looked at her as her wavelength calmed, and his did in turn, as well. He kissed her softly, "You should sleep. I'll stay awake and fight the monsters away, if you want me to." He joked, and his rich voice was layered with amusement, his soul chuckling with it.

"No. That's okay, you can sleep. But . . ." She paused, searching for a way to state what she wanted.

"But . . .?"

"I—I want you . . . to—to—um—sing. To me."

"Wh—what?"

"I want you to sing to me. It's something Soul does, sometimes. When I'm afraid, or upset. He comes in, and lies down, and sings to me in my ear."

"Oh. I see." Kid gestured to her pillow, "Well, lay down then."

"Y—you're actually gonna do it?"

"Of course."

"O—Okay." She lay down, and she felt Kid lay down beside her. His arms encircled her slender waist from behind and pulled her to his hard, well-muscled chest. She felt his breath travel over the back of her neck and jawline, stopping at her ear. His fingers brushed over her cheek as he moved her hair aside. Her eyes closed as his soft lips kissed her ear, "What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything you want."

"Alright." He fell silent for a moment, as he thought of a song. She heard him inhale softly, before his beautiful voice filled her ear. His voice was naturally beautiful, lilting melodically even when he spoke. She stilled her own breath for a moment, listening to her boyfriend's voice, rising and falling, just the right amount of intensity, the pure tone filling her hearing. She smiled dreamily (he always knew the best ways to render her breathless, turn her utterly powerless to him), she found his voice both intoxicating and relaxing at the moment, lulling her off to sleep, "_Dear my love, haven't you wanted to be with me/ And dear my love, haven't you longed to be free/ I can't keep pretending that I don't even know you/ And at sweet night, you are my own/ Take my hand . . ._"

"_Behold,  
Feast your eyes as the peripherals explode._

_Can you see me  
NOOOOOWWWW?_

_Can you see me  
NOOOOOWWWW?"_

_It won't  
go  
AWAY._

_This heritage  
this horror  
this THING  
that I am._

_Invisible in  
the eyes  
of Humanity._

_Feared,  
revered,  
rejected,  
honored,_

_I exist in every culture  
there ever was._

_I AM  
every culture that ever was  
because  
I am God._

_I don't want to be God  
anymore._

_I never ASKED for this!  
I never WANTED this!_

_Guess one  
can't help  
what they're born into._

_Right?_

_(Wipe away your tears and suck it up, because shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

**Desire**

Death the Kid awoke the next morning to blindingly bright streams of sunlight in his eyes. He squinted at the unwanted solar radiation, and buried his face (his body was entwined around hers from behind, arms tenderly holding the delicate, petite girl close to him) in Maka's hair. He inhaled her smell deeply—the little meister smelled like sunlight. She wore sunscreen constantly, in order to protect her pale peach skin from the scorching Nevada sun. The smell of cocoa butter clung to her permanently, reminding him of the beach and warmth and bright gilded days spent lazing under the shade of trees. She smelled the way she laughed. Her purity, sweetness, lovely elegance, never ceased to amaze him. She was perfect. So, so perfect. He leaned back, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the brightness, Maka swimming into focus as his vision cleared. She was laying on her back, head tilted back ever-so-slightly, her long, slender neck was exposed, the pale peach skin soft and delicate and beautiful, and her mouth was open a little, her breathing the deep rhythm of slumber.

Her face was sweet, delicate; child-like features in a heart-shaped face—a soft, upturned button-nose (her nose was an indication of her half-Japanese heritage, a cute little Asian-like shape), full, luscious lips, soft as feathers, tinted a pretty light pink, softly sloping cheekbones. Her hair was spilled in a cascade around her head, the sun casting it in bright gold. It burnished the normally ashy shade of her blonde bright yellow; it almost seemed to glow. He reached over and ran a hand through her very soft, fine fair hair, and bent down and softly kissed her cheek. She stirred in response to the touch, and her huge green eyes slowly slitted open. Her eyes were his most favorite; huge, round, and innocent in shape, a vivid dark green color. He could read her by her eyes, it was where her emotion showed the most. This morning her huge eyes were velvet green, the color of soft spring grass, dreamy and filled with love, as she reached up and her fingertips (he could feel the calluses on her hand, from years of scythe-wielding) brushed over his cheek, traveling to the corner of his mouth and stopping over his lips, "Good morning."

"Good morning." His lips lifted under her fingers, kissing the rough skin there. She giggled, "I think it might actually be afternoon." Kid looked round at the clock, "Almost. It's eleven-thirty."

"Yeah." She sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning, looking absolutely adorable as she did it. It reminded him of a kitten, for some reason. He grinned and leaned over, "You're so _cuuute_." He pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her face and neck sweetly. She laughed, the sound of the sunlight streaming through the window, "I love you, too."

"I suppose we should get up and get ready. We need to speak with Chichiue about catching Terrien, and make our mission report. Also . . . Chichiue wants you to file a legal suit against this pre-Kishin for sexual assault."

"I—I—That—Okay . . ."

"I'll make the report if you want me to. I was witness to the en—entire thing, af—after all." He swallowed hard, his face tensing as he tried not to relive what he had seen. Maka's small, rough hands cupped his face, and he found himself lost in hypnotic green aurora, "You don't have to if you don't want." She whispered, "I—I can h—hand—handle it. I—I mean . . . it wasn't th—that b—ba—bad . . ."

"No. I don't want you to have to relate that experience to anyone. I can handle it."

"But I—"

"I'll be fine, Maka. Don't you worry about me." He kissed her softly, savoring the lovely curve of her silky lips, "I will be fine, darling." He whispered it tenderly, softly stroking her hair.

"Okay. Fine." Maka sighed, and slowly pulled away from him, "We should get ready, then."

"Yes." He slid out of bed and stretched, arching his flexible back, (he could feel Maka's eyes on him, probably watching his musculature move through his thin t-shirt) arms taut as his muscles uncoiled. He sighed and relaxed his upper body, allowing his hands to fall to his thighs. The young shinigami picked up the small, sleek remote for his stereo, "What should we listen to, Maka?"

"Hhhmmmm. I feel like Muse, today."

"Muse it is." He had a CD for that band in, already, "_Origin of Symmetry_ an okay album with you?" He asked as the stereo clicked and processed the command.

"Yes." She got up, too, as the first song played, _New Born_. Kid bobbed his head in time to the music, walking over to his dresser to pick out clothes as he sang along, "_Link it to the world/ Link it to yourself/ Stretch it like a birth squeeze/ The love for what you hide/ The bitterness inside/ Is growing like the new born _. . ."

Kid looked back towards his girl, pausing in his search for a dress shirt as he continued to sing. Maka was smiling as she listened to him, a look of sweet bliss on her child-like face. She opened her mouth and began to sing along, as well. He dropped his own voice, listening to hers as she sang in lovely harmony against the original singer. She was a first soprano, her voice high and pure, almost like a child's, and Kid closed his eyes, focusing solely on the lovely sound. He found her voice was like his drug, he loved the way she sounded. The soft, high pitch was like his toxin, and he could hear in her singing the same way she moaned when he pleasured her, the sound rendering him punch-drunk with lust at his thoughts. He shook his head to clear it and opened his eyes, focusing on finding something to wear.

He was promptly distracted by the heightened volume of Maka's voice, and a pair of small hands encircling his waist, her small, soft body pressing into his back, the slight, pleasing curves molding against his muscles. He was suddenly highly aware of that fact that she was not wearing a bra under her thin nightie. Kid bit his lip and tried his hardest to focus on clothing and nothing more, but it was very difficult with her vocals right in his ear, slow and high and smooth honey, the same liquid golden sugar that he was so infatuated with and loved so much, pure Maka essence. The young shinigami found his thoughts further diverted from the subject of fashion by those small, calloused little hands slipping under his t-shirt (how could such soft touches set his whole body on fire?), traveling up his chest, sliding over the syntax of his muscles, little fingers kneading over his body. He tried his best not to shiver as her hands ran over his abs. Her voice still soaked into his ear, but his brain was too fuzzy to comprehend any lyrics (he knew this song perfectly well, so why was he drawing a blank?) as her soft, silky lips brushed over his ear, and all he could think about was her soft, small, warm body under his, the taste of vanilla, and exposing, touching, kissing as much beautiful, flawless pale peach skin as he could reach, and hearing her moan and gasp and scream his name, and beg for more, more, more—

"OI GUYS! You two hurry it up!"

Kid jumped at the sound of his weapon's voice, and felt Maka pull away from him as they both turned to see a rather impatient-looking Liz standing in the doorway, having flung it open, "Your father just called, Kiddo, and he wants to see you and Maka ASAP."

"M—my father?"

"Yes, genius, your father, you know, the man who has only single-handedly raised you your whole life?"

"Uuhhhh, yeah. R—right. We'll be ready, soon."

His mind was still too busy with vanilla, honey and sunshine.

"_The ugly will resign  
when the young blood eats the light.  
And one day,  
this pain could save your life."_

_If this is  
my fate,  
then I should  
cut myself  
off._

_No more love,  
no more caring,  
no more tenderness._

_I must  
separate myself  
from my friends._

_From  
Liz,  
Patti,  
Soul,  
Black Star,  
Tsubaki._

_And Maka._

_I have no choice._

_I am Death,  
so I must._

_(I will do what I must, because shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

**Dislocated**

Maka watched Kid as he emerged from his father's office, and she stood in the Shibusen hallway, watching him. He looked shaken, paler than usual, his eyes tired and wide with the effort of keeping his emotions under check. She knew he had indeed filed the rape report as witness, and she had also heard (the shouts had made her flinch, and it seemed to regard her) Shinigami-sama yelling at him. About what, she didn't know. She smiled up at him as he walked over, "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm okay." He leaned down to her, and kissed her deeply, pulling her body close to his. She gasped at the spontaneous kiss, and giggled into his mouth. He did not, leaning back to study her, those huge, gorgeous liquid-gold eyes full of . . . pain? Maka reached up and cupped his face gently, "What's wrong, babe?"

"It's nothing." He pulled away from her, his expression suddenly its typical, composed, impassive façade, his larger, warmer hand twining around her smaller, cool one, "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. Where will we eat?"

"Huh . . . my house." Kid pulled her along, down the hallway, and Maka continued to study her boyfriend. His eyes were focused down the hall, intent on walking. The young shinigami's gaze did not wander as it typically did, his thoughts seemed to be fixated on something, so unlike him (he normally was unable to keep his mind on one thing at a time; honestly, the boy thought too much) to be focused intently on a singular thing. His thoughts were always distracted: over the latest information from his father, symmetry, how Maka was doing, whether the frames at home were straight, symmetry, worrying over Liz and Patti and their well-being, the latest and greatest two-star missions on the board, and symmetry, among many other worries, concerns, doubts, both in himself and others, and neurotic tendencies that he possessed. Therefore, this sharp, intent focus Maka was witnessing concerned her. It was not typical Kid, and his out-of-sorts behavior was beginning to scare her a little. She gently squeezed his hand, "Kiddo-kun?" He looked over—she never called him that, the unusual nickname grabbing his attention, "Yes, darling?"

"You're acting weird."

"What're you talking about, sweetheart?"

"You're too—too—you don't seem distracted enough. Like something is bugging you. No—not enough things are bugging you."

He stopped walking, and watched her, his brows furrowed and contorted, creasing his normally smooth forehead, his sweet, full mouth pushed down in a frown, bottom lip sticking out in a slight adorable pout. Maka waited for him to say or do something. He didn't, he just stood there, that pained, pondering expression on his face, his huge beautiful eyes (she eventually had to look away, his stare became so intense) drilling into hers. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then inhaled a little and closed it, his mouth resetting into that cute, slightly childish pout. Maka stepped forward, and cupped his face, smiling a little as she tried to cheer up the upset shinigami, "Tell me what's wrong."

Kid seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he was in, and blink a few times as he watched her eyes. His expression softened, and he planted a soft kiss on her forehead, "Let's get lunch." He began walking again, his hand still holding hers, pulling her along. Kid was acting so strange. She cast her eyes down, studying their intertwined hands instead. Cream and peaches. His hand was much stronger and larger than hers, his palm long and slender and smooth, his fingers lithe around hers, deft and quick. The musculature of his hand (Maka had always had a strange attraction to hands in her guys) was well-chiseled, strengthened from years of squeezing triggers. The veins, bones, and tendons in his hand were well-sculpted over and around the smooth definition of muscle, flexing and winding as he walked, his fingers adjusting slightly as her hand shifted within his. The young shinigami's fingers were twice the length of hers, the tips of her little fingers ending at his halfway joints, his palm easily would engulf her fist, closing over her knuckles and the rest of the small form, drowning her peach skin in his alabaster. Maka gave his fingers a slight squeeze. He squeezed back. She pushed her soul against his, soft little wings fluttering. He recoiled, withdrawing his wavelength into himself. Maka bit her lip and withdrew, allowing him the space he seemed to need.

They were silent all the way back to Kid's mansion, and did not speak, even when they peeked in the large fridge in his kitchen. The death god wordlessly pulled out ingredients for grilled cheese (Maka knew he knew it was one of her favorites, he was so sweet, always thinking of her first) and when she moved to help him, he shook his head. Maka sighed and sat down at the table. Finally, she spoke, "Kid, what . . . what did Shinigami-sama talk to you about?"

"Our mission. Nothing more." He didn't even look up from buttering the bread. He seemed unable to.

"I don't believe you."

"Fine, then don't believe me." He turned the heat on under the pan, setting the bread on, and stacking the sandwiches together. Maka sighed, "I would really like you to be honest with me." Kid paused at the stove, halfway through adjusting the position of one of the sandwiches (probably not symmetrical enough for him) and his shoulders were visibly tensed, hunched up as his scapulas squeezed together, his head bowed. He stood like that, frozen, until it was time to flip the grilled cheese, "Chichiue talked to me about . . . about my future. And . . . that future regarding you."

" I see. Like . . . where our relationship will go?"

He paused again at the stove, once again becoming a statue. He had the uncanny, strange ability to stand stark-still, much like she did, a specialty learnt by all martial artists. His muscles were still visibly tense, and she could tell he was highly uncomfortable, "Yes. Something like that . . ."

"Well . . . I think our relationship will _definitely_ go places. I mean, we love each other so, so much. We would die for each other. And we—"

"Ma—Ma—"

"—will be great! Spending forever together, it's such an awe—"

"Maka!"

"—really, and I can't imagine our future without each other. We're perf—"

"Maka, please, _please_ stop!"

Maka stopped babbling, startled. His voice held such great hurt, endless sorrow, so much pain. The smooth baritone was jagged, broken, choked off, like Kid couldn't breathe. Maka looked up at her boyfriend to see him facing her. She was surprised to find that his eyes were unusually jewel-bright, the liquid gold melting and corroding, the beautiful, saturated yellow color rich as ever, his eyes unusually shiny and large with unshed tears, "Please stop." Maka stared at him for a moment, her mouth slightly open, thin brows knitted together. He bit his lip and turned away, exiting the room, his footsteps hurried. She tracked him through the foyer, his shoes echoing on the tile, and up the stairs, the bass pounds on the black carpet rumbling in her ears as she listened to him run away.

The grilled cheese began to burn, but Maka made no move to stop it.

"_War on every shoulder,  
lie on every eye.  
We're painting submission  
across the shadowed sky . . ._

_Fire on the sides,  
burned and bright, has arrived  
lost in flight, on golden molted wings."_

_I see all  
the destruction,  
creation,  
pain,  
joy,  
ugliness,  
beauty  
that is  
humans._

_It fascinates me  
yet I understand._

_Because  
though me body  
is shinigami,  
my mind,  
heart,  
soul  
is human._

_But I shall  
deny myself  
what I could have._

_Because, really  
I cannot  
have it. _

_I am stuck with  
war,  
pain,  
tragedy,  
destruction._

_Destined to  
witness  
humans die  
forever._

_(Stop those tears, shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

**The Hours**

Kid sat on his bed for a long time. His stomach growled with hunger, but he made no move to satisfy it. The emptiness in his stomach was an insignificant nothing in comparison to the large, vast aching hollow in his chest. His eyes flickered to the ornate clock on the wall. Ten past two. Another hour had passed. Maka had aged a little more. Kid squeezed his

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

eyes shut, and he remembered the yelling match he had competed in against his father, "Kiddo-kun, I've told you many times! Investing your heart is a dangerous thing. You think humans are honestly going to stay around you? You are Death, their antithesis!"

"B—but, I love them! I can't . . . I—I—It's UNFAIR! What right do we

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

have as shinigami to deny ourselves? We have human hearts, as well, and it's a part of us that needs to be fed!"

"But they will age and die, Kiddo. They're going to leave you behind. Maka will leave you behind, if you end up marrying her. Do you really want to

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

watch her age, waste away, while you don't? As disease and aging and pain sets in?"

"N—no . . ." His eyes burned, but he would not cry, unwilling to show weakness to the elder death god, "But there has to be _something._ Some sort of ritual. I—I mean, you had me, you had Mama, you—you—"

"Your mother knew from the beginning that she would eventually leave. Even I knew. It was a broken marriage from the start." It was stated simply, coldly, without emotion or tenderness, just simply a hard fact of life.

Kid bit his lip hard, pulling from the flashback, opening his eyes to take in the blurred distortions of his room. He blinked the water away, rubbing his hands

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

over his wet cheeks, his breathing shallow as it came in short small gasps. His teeth were dug deep into his lip, drawing blood from the soft flesh, the bitter and salt plasma flooding his mouth, the taste making him gag. He coughed into his hand, the hollow sensation seeming to grow bigger in his chest, weighing on him. A soft knock on the door made him look up, "Um, Kid? Are you okay?" He closed his eyes, the soft-spoken pure tone of her voice almost snapping the little composure he still retained. He gasped one last time, then swallowed his tears, dried his face on his hands, and stood up straight, straightening out his suit. He heaved a few deep breaths before he walked over and cracked open the door, trying not to let his voice catch as he spoke, "I need to talk to you." She was so sweet, so much like a little girl, staring up at him with those

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

huge, gorgeous green eyes, soft with love and concern. He almost broke down again, seeing her tender heart-shaped face, childish features adjusted in the most precious expression of adoration and worry. She nodded, ashy-blonde pigtails bobbing cutely, looking innocent as ever as she stepped into his room as he moved aside. He watched her walk over to his bed, his eyes tracing over the pleasing shape of her slight, slender body, the perfect balance between curvy and straight. Her legs looked beautiful, the soft pale peach skin flawless, her legs a mile long and slender as she sat down and crossed her delicate ankles. He sighed, a long, windy sound of longing and pain. He left the door and

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

sat down beside her, taking her hand. He watched those wide lovely emerald auroras, "Maka." She smiled at him, soft full pink lips turned up in a small curve, "Yes, honey?" He sighed again, and bit his lip as he

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

struggled with himself, and what he was about to do. He watched her intently, his eyes handling hers softly, "Maka. I think . . . I think we should

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

end this relationship." His voice broke on the last word, his hands began to shake around hers.

"Wh—what?" Her voice was whisper soft, caught completely off guard. It hurt him, so.

"I love you. And I want the best for you. And . . . I'm sorry, but . . . this simply isn't going to work out."

"K—Kid." Her eyes widened, pupils constricting, her eye color turning a brighter shade, bright venom-green, as she watched him in fear, "What do you mean? This . . . but—but we love each other. Y—you love me. Kid . . ." Her huge eyes filled with tears. Kid sighed, and swallowed the lump

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

rising in his throat, "I know. I know, darling. But the fact is, I'm immortal. You're not. I'll stay young while you age. I am Death, you are human. This is not going to work. I'm sorry." He pulled his hands away from her, and stood, "It's over, Maka. I love you, but it's over. You can hate me if you want." He allowed his eyes to sweep lovingly, longingly over her one last time, drinking her in, before he turned and exited the room. The tears were already

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

flowing down his cheeks, burning his skin hot as he pushed the door and stepped outside. The previously sunny day had turned dark, a storm brewing and pushing through, one of the freak weather patterns common to Nevada breaking in the iron-clad clouds overhead. Kid's sobs were

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

lost in the tearing roar of thunder over head, cracking as lighting ripped white-hot across the darkened sky, bright and forking along it path. Haha, maybe he would be struck with lightning. It would hopefully kill him. He _wished_ it would kill him. Rain broke over him, striking the shinigami until he was soaked as he walked the deserted streets of Death City—his city. Kid appeared to have everything, the whole world was at his fingertips, yet

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

he was helpless as the hours passed. The hours. Goddamn them. They whittled away the time, bit by bit, their tax aging all those around him while he stayed perpetual. Even God had to follow a set of rules, lest He sin against Himself, or commit

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

blasphemy in His own name. Even Death could not control the way mortals die, simply only a ward to pass on their souls, as much at the mercy of Fate as the mortal population Kid was someday destined to look after.

Yes, the hours would pass. On, and on, and on into eternity, never stopping, never ceasing. An inexorable force, moving forward forever and never looking back, carrying everyone into the future. The hours turned like wheels, grinding ever-forward, so slow yet so fast, stretching

_(Shinigami aren't allowed to cry)_

on into days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia, eons. It always started in the simplest of places, didn't it? The syntax of Fate, the workings of the Universe, the relationships built between beings, it all tied back to time. Time depended on one thing to drive forward.

The hours.

"_Now do you see?  
_

_Now do you...  
_

_Now do you see?"_

_I don't see._

_I'm blind._

_(Shinigami _

_aren't _

_allowed _

_to _

_cry)_

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** FINALLY!! I have updated at last. I'm so, _so_ sorry it's taken _soooo_ long, school is a temperamental bitch. Ah~ college.

But anyway, Kid is an idiot, don't ya think? Don't you guys worry, their relationship will be fine. Ironically, my own boyfriend broke up with me on Halloween. Isn't love grand? *sarcasm* But no, seriously, I've been perfectly fine. I've barely cried. It was great inspiration for this chapter, however. XD And I was planning this plotpoint months and _months_ before my boyfriend broke up with me. But don't worry, it won't interfere in my writing, my muse is perfectly alive and kicking. :3

OH AND THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN BETA'D!! Yeah, I have a Beta, now. :3 Thank you, caveat lector (aka Nadia XD) for doing such an awesome job!! You're the best!! *huggles*

SO!! Next chapter is _special._ Why? Because it's the eighth chapter and it's COMPLETELY SYMMET--no, I'm joking. XD It's actually because it will be the self-titled of this oneshot/miniarc series, and will be called "Moments" after the full work.

**Kid:** And . . . it's also the eighth chapter. Therefore, it is perf-- 

**Kashii:** SHUSH SHINIGAMI!! *incapacitates Kid*

XD Anyway, Moments 8 will feature BOTH couplings, SoulxMaka AND KidxMaka, as a series of drabbles. This chapter will be dedicated to ALL my readers (even if you don't leave reviews . . . hell, this'll give ya a motive), **_SO THAT MEANS YOU!_**! Since this chapter is dedicated to my readers, _**I AM TAKING REQUESTS!!**_ :D Any **prompts or idea** you can think of **for SoulxMaka or KidxMaka** or BOTH (if you want XD), **send it my way in a review or PM**, I will be delighted to write it!! :3

This story would be nothing without you, my dear reader, so I thank you all!!

SOOOOOO . . . .

_**LEAVE A REVIEW!!!**_

KTHX Bai bai ~ ~

~Kashii


	8. Moments: SoKa and MaKi

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

* * *

**Disheveled**

Maka watched Death the Kid as they strolled through the park, holding hands. She had agreed (after having to cancel plans with Soul) to accompany Kid today after school. Apparently, a date couldn't wait for the movie she and Soul had planned to see.

Kid looked uncomfortable; it was June in Nevada (today's forecast said it would only be ninety degrees—the current temperature was 105), and the heat was ridiculous. He wore his typical all-black suit, buttoned up to the neck, skull insignia perfect as always. For once, the heat was getting to him, his shinigami skin wasn't enough.

Maka had (she knew it would drive him crazy, but hey) a sudden inspiration. She stopped and tugged on his hand, "Wait a minute."

"What?" He turned around (his golden eyes were lovely as ever) with a bewildered expression on his face.

She stepped towards him, "Can I see your jacket?" He looked confused, then unbuttoned the black suit jacket and shrugged out of it, "Here." She took it, and stepped close to him. She pulled his white dress shirt from his pants, letting the tails fall loosely over the black, "Wh—what are you doing?" He tried to retuck it, but she grabbed his hands, "Relax." She unbuttoned the first few buttons of his collar, exposing the hollow between his collarbones, and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.

He stood there, a look of panic on his face, "Y—you—it's not symm—"

She just shook her head and placed a finger on his lips, silencing him, "I like you disheveled."

His eyebrows knitted in concern, "You do?"

"I do."

He smiled, then. His huge, sweet "I-love-you-forever-and-always" smile (it made her stomach do backflips, and her knees turned to jelly) he saved just for her, "Then I like it, too."

**Captured**

Soul smiled at Kid over his glass, "So, this time she kicked me out. Then I came to see you."

The young shinigami nodded, "I see." He took a drag of (he could always take much more liquor than a normal human) his whiskey, "She kicks you out a lot . . ."

"Yeah . . ." Soul smiled at the thought of his girlfriend. Sweet little Maka, with her wheat-spun hair and huge emerald eyes, who smelled like sunlight, "But she'll have you wrapped around her little finger before you know it . . ."

**Hickey**

"Kid, I _swear to God_, if you don't stop touching my stuff _right now_, I'll only leave a hickey on _one_ side of your neck!"

The OCD teenager cracked a smile and ducked his head over Maka's desk. He continued to rearrange the stack of books, and took a peek (he was playing it off as fearful, but she was really making him laugh inside) at her over his bare shoulder. She was kneeling on the side of the bed, still nude, arms crossed under her chest so that her small peach-dust breasts were pushed up.

She glared at him. Oh, how cute she was.

He just smiled bigger, and continued to rearrange the desk.

"Makaaaaa-CHOP!"

**Memory**

Soul had never forgotten the way she held out her hand and smiled, and asked to be partners (she was always his brave girl) as he turned from the piano bench. Because it was the first moment he had ever been accepted—unconditionally.

Maka had never forgotten the scowl on his face, and the middle finger ("Asshole . . ." He muttered) he stuck to her retreating, flirting father, off once again with another woman. Because it was the first moment she knew—not all men are pigs.

**Fairytale**

Maka had always believed in fairytales. She had always loved them. So, when she pictured her prince charming (blue eyes, fair blonde hair, perfectly together) meeting her for a date, she always thought there would be fireworks, and rain, and flowers, and it would be utterly _perfect_ because they were _meant to be_. When he actually came (golden-yellow eyes, black-and-white hair, a complete mess), it was stumbling up to her, late for their date, shoving a single, wilted red rose in her hands, and biting her lower lip in a soft, chaste kiss.

She never thought she would end up with an obsessive-compulsive, broken-down shinigami.

But she still liked it.

**Instrument**

Maka smiled up at Soul, his face over hers, a few inches of space between their lips. His muscular, bronze body pressed into hers, his soft skin like warm velvet. She closed her eyes and moaned softly as his hands (it seemed his fingers were not made for just a piano—but also for her body) wandered over her skin.

She could feel him tapping out the fingering of a song, trailing his pianist hands around the crevices of her being; over her small chest, here was her well-defined abdomen, the slender curve of her waist, down over the jagged valley of the hip, the small, round, well-shaped buttock.

Maka arched her back with pleasure as his fingers wandered inside her. Soul smiled down at her, "I think I've found my favorite piano to play . . ."

**Carnage**

Maka watched as Kid lowered his skull mask over his face. His black cloak billowed behind him (it was long and flowing and dark and lovely) as he approached the dying. This was his profession, his forte, as the Angel of Death, the Reaper, Death Himself.

The carnage always clung to him after these missions. It was his own, personal disease. It smothered him. Broke him.

It was so terribly frightening yet fascinating. He always said it was the survivors.

They had quivering hearts. Struggled with beaten lungs.

He cried for them.

Maka would watch.

**Location**

For Soul and Maka, neither could function properly without the other, because one was always there to call the other home.

**H****2****O**

The young shinigami was finding himself constantly distracted, always fascinated, by (even if they were soaking wet and utter mess, he couldn't help it) all that wheat-spun, golden hair. The way it clung to her cheeks, the ropiness of the fibers in their wet state, the way it would wisp, halo-like (and he had always considered her _his_ angel) around the crown of her head.

He loved it the most when the clear water would run off the soft ochre, liquid diamond slithering over fine golden strands.

For some reason, it always reminded him _why_ he was a meister.

His mind had suddenly gone blank, when she had locked those enormous, liquid emerald eyes on his.

They stopped his heart.

Seduced him.

**Blame**

Sometimes he would see her staring off (the wall, the floor, whatever helped her avoid his eyes) into space, her soft, green-and-velvet eyes harmed in self-inflicted guilt. He would reach for her hand. Smile.

I'm here.

Fingers would brush over a long scar.

Don't be guilty.

He never had to say anything. She just knew.

**Artist**

Maka loved to watch him draw. Kid would sit at his easel (and normally he was dressed casually, relaxed, whenever the art bug bit him) with his chin in his left hand, his right moving across the piece, lost in his craft. She loved to watch his deft, lithe fingers traveling over the paper (his favorites—canvas, newsprint, drawing pad, illustration board) as he constructed the image. He would look up every once in a while, liquid-golden eyes half-lidded by long, thick, gorgeous, black-spider lashes, as he observed and analyzed whatever he was drawing, and committed it to paper.

Ironically, his favorite media (charcoal, pastel, tempera, oil paint) were the messiest. His alabaster hands were often stained black with charcoal, or colored rainbow by a plethora of color from either his Prismacolor pastels or his favorite set of tempera at the time. It was a rule of his (and mostly Liz's) that his art be limited to the studio, for fear of spreading the mess around. It was in these moments that he was his freest, that he laid aside his OCD for the sake of expressing himself. That studio was like his playground, his escape, from fighting pre-Kishin, from working for his Chichiue, from being Death.

Whenever Maka would become lost (and it was quite often that this happened) in watching him work, as she sat beside him, he would smile. If his hands were covered in charcoal or pastel, Kid would bop Maka on the nose, leaving her with a spot of black or color powdering the tip. If he was painting, he would dot her forehead with his brush, and she wouldn't realize it until the cool liquid slid between her eyes and down the bridge of her nose. After this, he would always laugh, and she would pretend to be angry with him, until he dotted his own forehead, or bopped himself on the nose. Only then would Maka bust up with laughter.

These memories were what Maka loved the most about him. That young, carefree artist, just a fifteen-year-old boy and his girlfriend, loving and learning and creating.

**Fairy-spun**

Maka had always found Soul's eyelashes fascinating. They were silver-gossamer, long and thick, but so fair (but his hair _did_ have pigment, according to Dr. Stein), one could barely see unless they looked hard. His lashes were like fairy-spun dreams, magical and hypnotic.

Sometimes, Maka found herself dreaming of spider-webs blessed with dew-drops, and iced frost, iridescent and delicate. She always woke up to his closed eyes, long white lashes brushing on his bronze cheeks.

In those moments, she always thought him the most beautiful.

**Stitches**

At first, Kid thought Maka was psycho. Then again (and he never voiced these opinions aloud, for fear of death by dictionary), he was a bit hypocritical. How many other normal people had to go check at home every three hours to see if the frames were all perfectly even?

But still. Stealing Stein's chair had been _her_ idea. So, when they got in trouble (and he sincerely hoped his status would let them off the hook), it would be all _her_ fault.

It was still worth it as they both lay sprawled against the wall, Kid on his back, Maka on her stomach with her feet attached to the chair, and one wheel still spinning like mad.

Until Stein came running up.

"YOU TWO IDIOTS!! PSYCHO TEENAGERS!!"

The young shinigami was quite terrified (if there was anyone who could scare him, it was Stein) for a moment. Maka poked Kid in the ribs, and she was grinning when he looked over.

"Wanna go again?"

**Fated**

The laughing moon watched as a boy played a piano and a girl clapped. It laughed. _This is the beginning. Watch them, watch them._

And so they started.

**Eggs**

"Fine!! You make the eggs if you hate it so much!" Maka stalked angrily over to the table, and plopped down. Or, rather, sat down gently. Her pregnant body stopped her from moving too quickly.

Her husband stared back at her over his shoulder (his honey eyes were injured, and it made Maka feel bad), "I just want the best."

Maka sighed, "It's fine, Kiddo. Make them however symmetrically you want."

He beamed, and turned back to the stove. His hands were deft as he prepared breakfast.

"I can see the soul. It's a girl."

* * *

**A/N:** Finally. I got this done. Here are your prompts. Sorry it turned out so short. TT_TT

Thank you to caveat lector for beta'ing, as always~

Well. I am a bit sad to say that this story will be ending soon. You see, the reason I wrote this was to get a grasp of the Soul Eater characters, and cure my need for fluffy from my favorite couplings. I have succeeded in both, and would like to focus more on my other writing projects. _The Undead Young _and _Resonating Between the Notes_ will command my attention this summer, as will my other, smaller writing projects. I look forward to writing the finale, and hope you guys all enjoy it, too. ^^

EIGHT CHAPTERS!! MY KID MUSE IS HAPPY. He insists that I keep it at eight, but there will be two more, so it totals at ten.

Next chapter will be the final installment of the KidxMaka miniarc.

**_PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!_  
**


	9. Metamorphoses of the Eternal: MaKi

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

* * *

_This chapter is for each and every one of  
you that have stuck with  
me, Soul, Maka, and Kid  
until the very end._

* * *

** Thanatos**

The water was hot against Kid's skin, falling like needles against his skin. All he had the energy to do was lean against the shower wall. Guilt and sorrow ate at his stomach, and it was like (he hadn't slept in days, had he?) he was suspended. Even among the drops of hot water, he was made of ice. She was always on his mind, and it would nag him, nag him, and he hurt, oh, how loud and wet and hard his heart was it rammed into his ribcage.

He was perfectly aware of his duties. His father had been apt to remind him of the mistakes he had made. The young Shinigami never should have attended the school. Death was not meant to fraternize with mortal girls (but he couldn't help being young, and she was gorgeous, all slender curves and huge aurora-green eyes), and he certainly was not permitted to love them. His heart was swollen, and he was sure that it was covered in bruises. A part of him was missing. It was lost, and there was naught he could do about it. His father had said so, and by this point, he highly doubted Maka would even take him back.

He was Death.

Nothing could be done.

Maka was dead to him.

**Crystalline**

Soul tried to get the girl of ice to eat. She wouldn't budge, wouldn't move. He knew who held her (and he was going to utterly _murder_ Kid the first chance he got) in this state, this place of quiet and no time. His meister was nothing but a shell of glass, and he was afraid of breaking her if he so much as touched her. It had been three days since they had broken up, and Maka hadn't been to school, had barely eaten, slept most of the time. She didn't even read, which scared him the most.

He stared at the delicate girl across from him, her plate still full before her. A glass hand was attached feebly to a fork, which picked sullenly at the shrimp tempura. He had hoped to tempt Maka into eating one of her favorite dishes, but to no avail. He was afraid, so afraid, more than anything, of losing her to this wormhole of heartbreak. He didn't want to watch her waste away over some stupid immortal. He refused to allow her to.

"Maka."

No response.

"Maka!"

She raised her head with great effort, and those huge green eyes were dead velvet. Soul shuddered, and his heart was heavy as those eyes stared through him. Of all his adoptive sister's beauty, her eyes were her best feature. They _lived_ with fire, they were supposed to contain the entire glory of the Northern Lights (because Maka was a rare one, special, but now that had been taken away, hadn't it? Kid had stolen it), but now there was nothing. Just dusty emerald. Faded velvet. Submissive doe eyes. It _scared_ him.

"Maka, eat!" His voice was edgy, anxious, "You haven't eaten anything all day, so c'mon."

She half-shrugged, and stabbed a piece of shrimp, before she raised it to her mouth. Soul sighed with relief as she began to eat. After a few bites, the glass doll rose from her chair, and shuffled the plate to the sink. Soul caught it before she could throw it out.

"Go in the living room." He whispered.

She nodded, and did as he asked. Soul gathered together the leftovers, and hoped, prayed, as he put them in the fridge, that she would be okay enough to soon eat the entire Tupperware-full. She was laying on the couch in the living room. The television wasn't even on. Her copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ lay forgotten on the coffee table. He picked it up, and sighed, sitting down on the other end of the couch. Automatically, she shifted around, and crawled toward him. Soul let her get comfortable in his lap, and he cracked open the book. He began to read aloud, trying his best with the difficult syntax and vocabulary.

He would read until she fell asleep, and then he'd tuck his little sister into bed.

She'd be okay. He would make sure.

**Exclusion**

Kid sighed, as his friends all ignored him. The news of the break up had spread wildfire (rumors at Shibusen had a tendency to do this) throughout the school, and now the majority of his friends and acquaintances had chosen to ignore him. Great. He could understand why, he and Maka had been the premiere couple. The entirety of Shibusen (for they were a giant, dysfunctional family, and they all loved each other, right?) hadn't been surprised when Death the Kid and Maka Albarn had begun to date. There had even been bets on whether or not Kid would propose at graduation. Now it was all ruined, all gone.

His heart hurt. His soul was tired, so tired. Sometimes he wished he could lie down and just give up. His girl—ex-girlfriend sat a few rows behind him, and it was like he could feel her cold breath down his neck as she grieved. She had been missing for a week and a half from school, and this was her first day back. He had passed Soul, Maka, and Tsubaki on his way into the classroom, and he could hear her sob, a terrible, soft wispy sound of sadness. It broke him.

After class, she was right next to him. He reached for her, "Maka!"

She turned, and he was expecting sorrow. Instead, he received venom, "Don't _touch _me!" She jumped away like she was burned, and rubbed her arm. Soul sent a glare in Maka's direction, and put his arm around her, guiding his meister from the classroom.

Maybe she could have Soul instead. He was good for her.

**Water**

She was drowning in him. His honey-liquid eyes, the sound of his heartbeat, his gentle touch, the set of his full mouth. She couldn't get him out of her head. He would haunt her in the ocean of the night, and he would drift across her dreams, always distant, and she would run, run, for him, but she never could find herself back into his arms. He was long and distant, and so, so far away, leagues and leagues away that she could never catch up to. He was everywhere on her, in her (it was suffocating, and she couldn't breathe, no matter how much she gasped for oxygen), around her.

She wasn't sure if she could keep treading water like this. It was an ocean she couldn't face, and the idea of coming back to him was beginning to sound more and more appealing. But he didn't deserve it, did he? Even if his father had ordered it, it didn't stop them from seeing each other in secret. Like Romeo and Juliet—their favorite play. She would try. She could see the grief on him, too, how much he missed her. He still loved her, didn't he?

She would try.

She wouldn't drown.

**Winternacht**

It snowed.

The January weather had decided it was time to treat the thirsty Nevada desert to some rain. The snow arrived at night, and it blanketed the world. Earth had pulled on a white, heavy sweater, and it was quiet and flawless as it coated Death City. Snows in Nevada were short lived and fleeting, there one moment, gone the next. It would all be melted by morning.

Kid noticed it outside his window as he paced a rut into his bedroom floor.

Maka awoke to the prickling of crystal delicacy against her windowsill.

They both found their way outside. Inevitably, their souls sought each other out.

It was all going to be okay.

**Reconciliation**

He saw her at the basketball court. She was wrapped in a thick pink jacket, rubbing her hands together and blowing on them. He approached her. Her eyes raised to his, and she stood. She waited for him to arrive at his destination (and _she_ was his destination, and he would always, always be brought back to her) before she fixed him with a glare. He shifted uncomfortably, and shrugged, at least having the good grace to look sheepish.

"I'm sorry, Maka."

"You better be. Bastard."

"I—I've been miserable. This has been the worst month of my life! I'm so sorry I hurt you. I _never, ever_ want to hurt you again. Could you ever take me back?"

She looked out across the court, draped in snow, "We should have a snowball fight."

Kid grinned. She smiled back, before she took three steps forward, and at last, at last, she was in his arms again, in him, among his being. He held her tight and kissed everywhere he possibly could reach, as she giggled up a storm, "You were really scared I wouldn't, weren't you?"

"I was. Terrified."

She giggled, and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back happily, until something cold, wet, and miserable slid down the back of his jacket, "AAAHHH!"

"Vengeance!" Her smile was a little _too_ evil for his liking. She picked up a wad of snow and molded it tiny a ball. It promptly made contact with the side of his face. Kid decided it was best to run away. She chased him around, pelting him with snowballs, until he called surrender. She pounced him, giggling madly, and they both lurched over into the ground, so that she lay on top of him. Maka giggled. Kid beamed. He pulled her closer, into a deep, rousing kiss. Maka squeaked softly. Kid's hands snuck around her jacket, until he found her warm flesh. Maka lay languid over him as he explored her body behind her clothes. They had missed this part, too.

Kid brought her back home to her apartment, where a sour-faced Soul waited.

He wasn't sure whether to hit Kid, yell at Maka for worrying him, or hug them both.

So he did all three.

**Relief**

Terrien's soul was brought back by Stein and Marie. Liz and Patti divided it between themselves, and Kid had the honor of cutting it in half. Of course, Maka had to hold him back from utterly tearing it apart. But, then again, that was her Kiddo-kun.

**Prospective**

Maka was over at Kid's house once again. They were studying, and she sat with her body wrapped around his as they read from the same textbook. His hand distractedly traced her bare legs, and she could tell he was tempted to sneak under her skirt. She gasped softly as he at last found the line of her panties. She shivered with anticipation. She could feel him smiling, as his hand slid under the cloth, and his fingers pressed to her core. She groaned, and he at last parted her lips and slid a finger inside. Maka squeaked and groaned again. Kid kissed down her neck, inhaling her scent as deeply as he could as his hand teased her, sliding in and out, in and out.

"Maka . . ."

"Ahhh . . . y—yes?"

"I was doing some research." He whispered, twisting his fingers in a way she liked. She arched her back and rocked her hips, "And I found a way that you can take on my immortality."

"Wh—what?" She looked up, shocked. His hand paused, as he watched her eyes.

"It would be a huge commitment, and there's no guarantee it could work. If it goes wrong, you might lose your powers."

Maka dropped her eyes, and smiled, "Maka-chan would do anything to stay with Kiddo-kun."

He smiled, "Good." His hand slid in again, and she moaned as he pressed into her sweet spot.

"H—how do we do it?"

His hand twisted again, and he nipped at her neck, "I make love to you." His voice was deep and husky, and she shivered as his hand slid around inside her. Her legs were jelly, most likely. She liked the idea of making love to Kid, very much so, "And you must also drink my blood. I know it's kind of gross, but it's needed."

"A—alright."

"You will make a lovely Queen."

She blushed heavily, "Th—thank you—ah!" His hand was skilled, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'll need a few days, to prepare."

She nodded, "O—okay . . ."

She let his hand continue to do its work. Looked like studying would have to wait.

**Eros**

Maka went over to Kid's house after school a few days later. He said he had a surprise for her. She was excited as they walked into his house, looking around for it. The foyer appeared its normal pristine black and white self. Kid let her search through the house for the surprise, the kitchen, the living room, the guest rooms. She at last found it in his room, in the form of low lighting, scented candles, and tons of flowers. She looked back at him in shock, and he smiled.

"I said I needed a few days to prepare. I want to dote on you as much as I possibly can."

Maka giggled and blushed, "You already do that."

Kid shrugged, "Hey, I treated myself, too." He walked into the room after her, and retrieved a Victoria's Secret box from under his bed, "Liz and Patti already got this. They're having a field day with you tomorrow."

Maka groaned, "That'll be fun."

Kid just smiled devilishly, and pushed her toward the bathroom, "I haven't look in the box, so it'll be a surprise."

She laughed again, "Okay." She stepped into his bathroom, and shut the door. She opened the box to find an adorable white nightie with pink ribbon trimming. It would make Kid crazy. Also in the box was a flavored body cream that contained pheromones, and some makeup. Maka applied the makeup, before she stripped down, and applied the cream all over her body. She pulled on the nightie over her slender body, and let her hair down. She fluffed it out in the mirror a bit, before she turned and opened the door. She peeked out to find Kid laying on the bed, in just his black boxers and an open dress shirt. It was sexy. He smiled over at her.

"Ready?"

Maka blushed and nodded, and stepped out from behind the door. Kid's eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he took in her softly curved form, walking toward him slowly. The nightie clung to her appealingly, and the smell of the body cream hit him as she came closer. She giggled as he made a small, strained sound in the back of his throat and swallowed hard. She noted a box of condoms on the nightstand, and her heart skipped a beat. She was nervous, yes, but she knew Kid was the only person for her.

"You look . . . sexy as _hell_. And you smell so good . . ." He watched with huge golden eyes as she crawled toward him on the bed. Maka at last made it to him, and leaned down and kissed him. He groaned and pulled her flush against him, the pheromones obviously already affecting him. He began kissing down her jaw, and to her neck, "Mmm, you taste delicious." Maka giggled again, as his hands found their way under her nightie. She heard him gasp as he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath, and he ran his hands across her flesh eagerly. She moaned and wriggled, demanding more.

He flipped her on her back, so that he straddled her, and smiled evilly as his hands found the hem of her nightie. Her heart was pounding hard, as he slowly pulled it off. She heard him gasp, and moan as he revealed her body. At last he pulled it off and threw it away, and she flushed from her forehead all the way down to her chest as his eyes hungrily took in her slender body. His hands began to toy with her breasts, squeezing and kneading at the soft mounds. Maka squeaked and moaned. He smiled evilly, before he leaned down and ran his tongue over her left breast.

"Ahh! K—Kid!"

His hot mouth sucked at her nipple, and his tongue ran over it and swirled around. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, as he gave her ample chest attention. Maka's fingers were curled into his soft, silky hair. She pulled at the fibers as he ravished her chest with his mouth and hands. He groaned again, and buried his face between her breasts, before he moved back up to her lips. Maka pulled at his dress shirt, and it slid off easily. His hands guided hers to the hem of his boxers, and she blushed as he drew back to watch her reaction. She slowly pulled them off, keeping her eyes on his face. He chuckled at her sudden shyness, as she inspected his body with huge eyes. He loved the way the flush spread all the way down across her breasts.

He leaned down again, so he was flush against her, and groaned at the contact of skin on skin. Maka gasped, and shivered, "I—is it time, yet?"

Kid drew back, his eyes watching her face as he gently traced his hands over the curve of her waist, "You ready?"

Maka smiled, "Yes."

Kid nodded, and leaned over to the nightstand. He grabbed a small square packet from the box, accidentally knocking it over as he drew his hand away. He tsked and moved to fix it, but Maka's hand gently stopped him. He sighed as he stared at the gorgeous young woman below him, and pushed symmetry from his mind. He opened the package, and slid the condom on. Maka watched it all with an embarrassed fascination that made him laugh.

He moved so that he was pressed against her entrance. Maka squeaked at the contact, and he smiled as he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, "You ready?"

Maka nodded, and she flexed her legs wider. Kid sighed with longing, and slid inside with one smooth movement. Maka squeaked again, and Kid had to resist the instinct to start rocking his hips. He pushed inside farther, and broke through her barrier. Maka hissed as the pain stung her, but she barely flinched. After all the pain she'd been through, this small sting wasn't a huge deal. Kid waited a bit, gasping at the way her muscles hugged him so perfectly. She was slick and hot and wet, and her flesh pressed around him. She at last wriggled impatiently and moaned, causing the muscles to work around his member. He groaned, and began a steady rhythm. Maka began to rock her hips with him as he moved, and Kid closed his eyes to the sound of her loud moans and screeches.

He worked even harder, and gasped and moaned as her muscles tightened then relaxed around him, each time he thrust in. Her hands scrabbled at his back, and he could feel her soul crashing and rolling with love for him and the ecstasy of physical sensation. He squeezed his eyes shut, and plunged into her soft flesh as hard as he possibly good. She screamed as he felt her muscles clench tight, tight, tight, around him, before hot liquid flooded over him. He followed right after, pumping rapidly into her now slack muscles. He yelled her name into her neck as he came, and at last collapsed, gasping, into her body.

When they both had recovered their breath enough, Kid looked down at her and smiled, "That was amazing."

"Yeah . . ."

She leaned up and kissed him softly. He kissed her back, before he slowly, gently pulled out. She groaned a bit. He kissed her one more time, before he pulled the condom off and threw it away. He returned to her, and this time he had a paring knife in his hand. Maka stared at it apprehensively, as he snuggled back into the bed, and pulled her to him. He kissed her forehead gently, before he handed her the small knife. He held out his hand to her, palm up, with his hand arched back to expose his wrist. Maka hesitated, before she pressed the knife into his skin, and drew the knife across his flesh, drawing a flow of blood quickly.

She dipped her head, and her small pink tongue flicked against his wrist. He giggled as she grimaced at the salty, ironish taste. She got over it quickly, and began to lap at his blood. It was sort of erotic, to see her eagerly drinking his blood, lying nude on his bed. His arms tightened around her as his wound began to close. She had already had several mouthfuls, and finally drew back and yawned. Kid took away his hand and kissed her gently on the lips, licking up the last drips of his blood on her lips, "Sleep, now."

She nodded drowsily, and laid her head down. She was out before her head hit the pillow.

Kid knew. When his girl would wake, all her senses would be enhanced, and her soul would be like his. Immortal, indestructible, powerful.

She was all his. Forever.

* * *

**A/N:** Hallo, guys. Well. I have many mixed emotions, as this is my last A/N I'll be writing for this story. This is the second-to-last chapter-I decided not to put an A/N with the last one. It IS prewritten, but I'm gonna wait a week to publish it.

I read the last chapter over today, and ended up crying. I'm going to have trouble letting this story go, for the fact that it was my first true fanfiction, as well as the first place where I explored two of my OTP's for this amazing series. I can't believe it's lasted for over a year, and that I'm ending my first large fanfiction project. I'm happy that it's over, but at the same time, it will always have a special place in my heart.

The next one will be the last. Here's to a wonderful year of reading and writing, and to the next adventure that awaits us!

Kashii Ai, signing off on _Moments_!


	10. FINAL: The Last Moment

**Disclaimer:** All original Soul Eater characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2004 by Atsushi Okubo. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Soul Eater series.

_Moments_ Story copyright (c) 2009 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

* * *

**Soul**

White.

Red.

Black.

And teeth like a shark.

He was the first boy she ever let herself trust. It did not matter whether he was like her borther, or beamce her lover. He was everything (because he was the half to something, like she would always say, that two could fight as one) she did not have. He was trhe love where where she lacked it, and the male fugure she needed where her father was not. For Maka Albarn, Soul Eater Evans was her home.

His heart beat for her exisitnace, and Soul could not exist without Maka. It was physics, Fate, God, it was just the way the Universe decreed them. A pair had been made in heaven, and they knew, they would always, always be the frest of the other's life. Like he was an extension of herself, Maka weidled Soul with grace, agility, power, asnd theur souls, their souls, would always beat like one heart. And when Maka breathed, Soul played. His feet, his hands, his white-black-red.

He _is_ a piano.

He breathes like one, all godly chords and devastating notes, moves like ivory keys, to the pound, the rhythm, of them, even the way he fought, with his music. It was his soul that would sing all day, even if he was perfectly was all music, wielding it like a weapon, like it was his life, because it _is_ the culmination of everything he exists for. Beauty, pain, and a piano that was always tuned.

Sure, he was dark, twisted. Mess-up.

But Soul Eater Evans is a melody.

**Kid**

Black.

White.

And stunning sunshine-amd-daisies yellow.

Such huge eyes he has, and gentle timbre, a soft demeanor. His father raised him right. Kid was all soft, slow breaths and patient sterness. Just like his mother, his father always said. The immortal was perfectly aware of the snapshot quality of the life around him. Here now, but gone soon, with nothing but the photograph of memory to keep close. Despite this, he'll always, always be brave enough to love the mortals round him, because they're his existence, his love. They change where he is static, and despite his mental condition, he needs the constant of change.

It's the clouds, the laughing sun, and a small girl with cornsilk and larger-than-life bright green eyes that he stays a;ive for. He's notg quite sure what would have happened, had he not been mugged in Brooklyn, or fought his two best friends in the netire world on his first day of school. Nor if had never met the delightful little pixie that was Maka Albarn. He loved her fleeting love of things, ironfast stubbornness, soft, pure, tiny soul.

He breathed it all in, the lives of these humans, and threw himself into it. No regrets, and no turning back to dusty eternity and infallible lonliness. Here, he would make the mistakes young people like him are meant to make, and here are the places where he'll make friends, and fall in love. His house will be fillwed with children, and he'll always, always have a girl who loves him, adores him, lives with him forever.

Death had never felt livelier.

**Maka**

A spark of green aurora.

A flash of dark gold silk.

Some soft, pale pink.

The angel, the grigori, the pure anchor to Shibusen. She was a skilled scythe meister, a loving friend, a happy girlfriend, and eventually, wife. No matter who she chose, Maka Albarn knew she would be blessed, because despite what her father was, she was fortunate to have the guys in her life that she did. She could keep them in line with a few well-placed words and a novel to the head if need be, but they were always better than her father.

Soul was so gentle with her. Maka's very own weapon-pianist.

Kid's shinigami heart beat for her human soul, and with him, immortality as not so daunting.

She was soft, pale pastel colors, and a loud, light-anmd-airy voice. She yelkled, she screamed, she whispered, she hugged. She was a girl who could love the most broken, ehat could be the worst enemy. She was the angel with a broken family, yet her potential to love, to forgive, really was endless and vast. She was the pure force in the lives of the broken, a true being of death, of life, of beauty. An angel.

She was pure air.

**Moments**

It always starts with one. A look, a simple hello. A handshake. It comes from a small place, and it always, always grows into something more.

A boy.

A girl.

And one simple little moment.

_ -fin-_

_Moments  
July 16, 2009 – September 18, 2010_


	11. Acknowledgements:Bonus:Copyrights

**Acknowledgments**

I would first like to thank all my readers, reviewers, favoriters and alerters, both those with a FFN account, and those who were anonymous. Thank you for sticking with _Moments_ until the very end, and for all your wonderful support, feedback, and demands for updates. Thank you for keeping me motivated to write, and keeping the hearts of muses up.

For those I know personally:

I would like to thank Trilby (May Never Know), for getting me into KidxMaka, turning me into the rabid Kid fangirl I am, and, of course, helping me grow my Kid muse. This story probably would have died without you there to fuel it, and I am so glad you were one of my very first friends on FFN. Everything is a riot with you, and I highly regard and value your feedback and insight. So, thank you, Tri-chan! Much love to you! *blows kiss* :3

I would next like to thank Bearman (soulxmakaxmonkeyxbearman) for reviewing pretty much half the chapters in this story, for the lulz you provide, and for also keeping me motivated to write. You were another one of my very first friends on this site, and I'm glad for it, from our chats in the SE forums over music to the awesome feedback you would always give in your reviews. Thank you very much! You're an awesome and cool guy. Continue to channel your inner Soul, he would be proud of you. ^^

And lastly:

Next, a thank you to Atsushi Ohkubo for creating such wonderful and engrossing characters, as well as a brilliant series where the very fabric of the story is based on people who are emotionally rich and whole, and for creating a place where the supernatural is ordianry.

And last, but certainly not least, a very special thank you to Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn, and Death the Kid, as well as the rest of the case of SE, for teaching us all you have, and just all around being awesome. I love you guys so, so much! ^^

**BONUS INFO!**

**Tropes**

Always Save the Girl: Soul, the _entire _fandom's looking at you. Kid, too, in my fanon.

Anchored Ship: Averted. Kid and Maka _almost_ stay broken up in chapter 9, but overcome it.

Battle Couple: Soul and Maka, Kid and Maka, you all know the drill.

Birds of a Feather: Kid and Maka, because they are forever destined to sit there and talk about . . . books. Ah, the nerd-love~

Opposites Attract: Soul and Maka. He's a fairly quiet musician-scythe with a meister complex, she is a loud-mouthed nerd who whips out books randomly and whams them over his head. They're both pretty stubborn, though.

Beautiful Dreamer: For like two minutes in chapter 7, when Kid wakes up in the morning with Maka in his bed.

Boy Meets Girl: Soul and Maka, Kid and Maka.

Break His Heart to Save Him: Kid does this to Maka, in chapter 7. They make up, though.

Sacred First Kiss: Between Kid and Maka, in chapter 1. "That's what's different." Much fangirl SQUEEE~~~ factor.

Erotic Dream: Kid, in chapter 7. In the morning when they wake up, and Maka starts serenading him. Control yourself, shinigami.

Everybody Has Lots of Sex: Soul and Maka, Kid and Maka. Justified by the fact that Soul and Maka have been partners for like _ever_, and that Kid and Maka can see each other's souls.

Interspecied Romance: Kid and Maka. He's a shinigami, she's human—they are not the same species. They get around this issue in chapter 9, though.

Their Fist Time: Kid and Maka, in chapter 9. Is the closing prompt.

Sexy Shirt Switch: Maka wears Soul's shirt in the morning after they spend all night making love in chapter 6.

Intertwined Fingers: Tons of times. Not bothering with naming all the occasions.

It's Not You, It's Me: Kid uses this with Maka, when he breaks up her at the end of chapter seven. It's not _his_ fault, his father made him!

I Want My Beloved to Be Happy: Maka. Soul. Kid. All three of them. There are various examples.

Love Confession: Chapter 1, Maka tells Kid her feelings.

Mayfly December Romance: Averted. Kid and Maka get around this in chapter 9.

Oblivious to Love: Yes, this is canon. LOOK AT IT, SOUL AND MAKA, IT'S _RIGHT THERE._

**Copyrights**

Soul Eater series copyright © 2004 Atsushi Ohkubo /SQUARE ENIX. First published in Japan in 2004 by SQUARE ENIX CO., LTD. English translation rights arranged with SQUARE ENIX CO., LTD. and Hachette Book Group through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc.

Translation copyright © 2009 by SQUARE ENIX CO, LTD.

Moments fanwork copyright © 2009 Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, Goths Will Eater Your Soul Productions, and any associated names/companies. Work is released under Creative Commons License, derivative works permitted.

This is entirely a fanmade work, for anthropological purposes such as exploration, analysis, and criticism. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, Goths Will Eater Your Soul Productions, and any associated names/companies are in no way associated with SQUARE ENIX CO, LTD., Hachette Book group, or Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc. Soul Eater series in no way belongs to Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, Goths Will Eater Your Soul Productions, and/or any associated names/companies.


End file.
